


Fang and Claw - Collector's Edition

by NorthernLights37



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Real Direwolf Hours, Targ Family Shit, The Animal POV No One Asked For (except SeasquidSnark), The Complete Ghost Set, cursing, friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-09-25 18:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20376262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernLights37/pseuds/NorthernLights37
Summary: This set includes the following Ghost Fics, with each chapter representing a story in the series:1.  Fang and Claw2.  Skin and Scale3.  Blood and Bone4.  The Ones who Remain (NEW)Enjoy, fellow Ghost fans!A special shout out to my DM ladies who know who they are ;)





	1. Fang and Claw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeasquidSnark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasquidSnark/gifts).
**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for charity, for the lovely SeasquidSnark, aka aweseeds, on Sept 28, 2018.

Ghost padded on silent paws through the main gates, red eyes darting left and right in the dying sunlight. He paused, sniffed into the icy wind, waiting to catch the scent of his quarry. There it was, yes, fire and scales and magic.

Fucking dragons.

He sighed, sneezing rapidly to get the heated scent out of his nostrils, the smell alone seeming to singe at his muzzle, as he made his way across the icy meadow and up the hillside, stopping for a moment as he caught sight of them.

They weren’t *so* big, he scoffed to himself, watching as the green and black creatures lay crunching and gnawing on their meals, deer by the smell, scorched with their hot breath unless he was mistaken.

He rarely was, of course.

His nose could detect many things.

Ghost allowed himself a chuckle as he made slow progress to where the creatures reclined, his nose making no mistake of the fact that Jon, *his* Jon, was currently putting it on the silver-haired mate he’d brought back home with him, the air thick with the smells and sounds of fucking when he’d made a circuit past Jon’s chambers.

‘Bout fucking time, if you asked him, though people general didn’t. Jon was the only one who could really communicate with him, and that was hazy at the best of times, but Ghost hadn’t needed any hinting from Jon to leave the noisy pair to it.

He had other things to tend to, anyway, namely what in the fucking hells these overgrown fire lizards thought they were doing feeding off stags without his permission.

This was the North, and it belonged to wolves, not dragons.

As he approached the pair looked up, their jaws working away at meat and bones, smoking flesh and charred bone strewn between them as they ate, and the fiery sunset glanced off sharply curved fangs that suggested he’d be safest to try his hand at a bit of diplomacy.

“Pardon me, lads.” Golden eyes stared down at him, waiting. “First off, welcome, of course.” Powerful jaws crunched, and Ghost swallowed hard, unwilling to be cowed by the overgrown interlopers, carefully watching for any sign of aggression. “Glad to see you’ve found a meal, but next time best check with me first.”

The black dragon, the larger of the two, made a low rumbling sound like heavy thunder, and for a moment he thought he was about to get a blast of fire to the face. He was relieved when he realized the dragon was laughing.

It was followed quickly by anger when he realized that the dragon was laughing at *him*, a menacing voice calling out to the green beside him, “Brother, is that fluffy little pony talking to us?”

“I’m not a fucking pony, you dumb shit.” Caution left him, replaced by his own menacing growl. “I’m a direwolf.”

“Ahhhhhhh.” Ghost didn’t care for the amusement that rang through the dragon’s tone. “So, a dog the size of a pony, then.” 

He felt a snarl building, though he knew it was unwise. “Not a fucking dog either, lizard.” His words came out rough and low, and the part of him that was always spoiling for a scrap welcomed the fire in the beast’s eyes as he rose slowly, advancing on the white wolf.

“Stop it, brother.” The green beast had risen as well, silent throughout the exchange but heading off his brother now, his slightly smaller, scaly body inserting itself between the two. “He’s the King’s.” His great head swung around to face Ghost, closer than he was expecting, large nostrils opening and closing as he scented the wolf intently. “You are Jon’s, aren’t you?”

“Aye, I’m Jon’s.” He looked past the green beast to the black once more, challenge thick in his voice. “The King in the North, you lads know him?” He stood a little taller, a little prouder, noticing the sag in the larger dragon’s frame at his words.

The black dragon backed off reluctantly, hot air streaming from his muzzle as he snorted hard enough to blow back Ghost’s fur in one steaming exhale. “I’m going up, brother. Can’t say I’m impressed with the weather,” his eyes locked with Ghost’s, “or the wildlife.” He moved back a few more paces before speaking to the green dragon again. “Aren’t you coming?”

Ghost kept his eyes on the black creature, but he could feel the twin golden gaze of the green dragon studying him silently. “I’ll join you later, still a bit hungry.”

In a gust of wind and beat of leathery wings the black dragon took to the sky, screeching out a parting call of “Farewell, pony dog!” before winging his way up and over the Keep.

“That your brother?” Ghost didn’t sense much menace in the green dragon as he addressed him, asking his question as the creature settled back down, great claws reaching out to flip a deer flank between his mighty jaws.

“Yes.” He almost sounded apologetic, this one did, and Ghost let himself relax a little bit, eyeing the piles of meat still remaining with more than a little hunger but restraining himself for now. “Sorry about that. He’s always been a little,” a sigh came between the crunching of a thigh bone, “dramatic.” 

There came a sudden blur of movement and then, flopping down heavily before him was the rump end of a stag, hide burned away, smelling awfully delicious. Ghost looked up, something friendly in the green dragon’s gaze as he looked on at the wolf curiously. That green head gave a nod, as if granting permission, and the white direwolf needed no further prompting. Soon all that could be heard was the dual crunching as wolf and dragon took their meals, an amiable silence between them as they ate.

It was the dragon who broke it, with an idly posed question. “So you are Jon’s beast, yes? Bonded and such?”

Ghost stopped chewing. “Aye. Name’s Ghost.” He flipped a bone between his paws, sucking out the marrow for a second before he realized he was probably being rude to this guest in his lands. “What’s your name, then?”

The green dragon gave a long, spine straightening stretch before answering, groaning deeply and circling his body so that his head was lowered enough that the pair were at eye level. “I’m Rhaegal. The rude one, my brother, that’s Drogon.” Rhaegal licked at his jaws with a large tongue, cleaning the remnants of his meal. “He’s mother’s, of course, bonded and bound.”

The silver girl, Dany, Jon’s mate. That’s who Rhaegal meant, he realized, but he wasn’t sure exactly what the dragon meant. “How do you mean?”

“We’re dragons. We have riders, if we are lucky. Only one, and only if we choose.” He sounded sad, this dragon named Rhaegal, and a little lonely. Ghost understood that all too well. Jon had been gone long and he’d missed the brother of his blood in his absence. “Drogon chose mother when we were very young.”

Now the wolf thought he understood. “She rides him? Like a horse?”

Rhaegal gave a little laugh, his large body shifting as though he shrugged, like the humans did. “Something like that, I suppose.” There was an amused drawl as the dragon continued, “But I wouldn’t say that to him, if I were you.” 

No, Ghost thought, he was likely to meet with a very sticky end if he did such, so he’d try not to rib the black dragon when and if he returned. “Good advice.” Ghost bit into a large hunk of meat, savoring the heat and flavor for a moment before swallowing, curiosity getting the better of him. “What about you? Have you got a rider?”

“No.” Rhaegal sounded so forlorn that Ghost could almost feel his sadness, but there was something else there, in the way the dragon suddenly shifted, a change in scent that the wolf found surprising. If he didn’t know better he’d think the beast was nervous. “But I’d like to. I have someone in mind.”

Ghost’s head tipped to the side, ears pricked up, a knot forming in his stomach suddenly though he wasn’t sure why. “Really? Who?”

Amber eyes landed heavy on ruby red, and by the time the dragon spoke Ghost knew what he would say, his hackles starting to raise in shock. “Jon, actually.” The dragon gave a nervous laugh. “This is awkward. I mean, I know you’re bonded, I can smell it, but I just thought,” Rhaegal’s eyes shifted around as he seemed to muster his courage, “I thought we could share him, if it’s alright with you?”

“But,” Ghost sputtered out, more shocked than angered, “Jon’s no dragonrider. He’s a wolf, like me, got the wolfsblood in his veins! The old blood!” The dragon was confused, that was all, to think Jon, one of the line of the First Men, could even dare such a feat. Jon was ice, not fire.

“But that’s just it, though! Can’t you smell it?” Rhaegal was so earnest that the wolf willed himself to settle down, to relax his tensed muscles by a tick or two, even if what he said was ridiculous. “He’s got the wolf blood, I know it, but don’t you see?” Those golden eyes plead with him, his voice almost desperate. “He’s got the blood of the dragon in him, too! I can feel it!”

Ghost sat down on his haunches heavily, a queer feeling growing in his chest, as though something was shifting, moving, magic sliding through the air, almost unable to believe he was considering there could be any truth to what the dragon said.

But.

Jon had always smelled…different from the rest of his human pack, something wilder about him, power thrumming deep in his chest, something that had brushed against Ghost when they would run together in their dreams.

He didn’t like to even dwell on the thought of sharing Jon, not even a bit.

But.

Jon got into an awful lot of shit, dangerous shit, deadly shit. And those icy dead fucks beyond the big ice wall were coming, he could feel that down to his bones. And damned if Jon didn’t have habit of running into those bony fuckers every chance he got.

Ghost squinted at Rhaegal, studying him anew in the last rays of dying sunlight. “Say you’re right.” The dragon let out a hot breath, as if he’d been holding it in, awaiting Ghost’s answer. “If he rides you, then you’ll be bonded, like your mother and your dumb shit brother?”

“Aye.” The word sounded strange on the dragon’s tongue, as if he were trying it out, to see how it felt. “I think *we* would be bonded. All three of us. The magic’s different in Jon than it is in mother.” Rhaegal blew out another breath, considering. “Can’t say for sure, though, until we try it.”

Ghost heaved out a sigh, lowering his body to the icy ground and laying his head upon his paws, red eyes staring up into Rhaegal’s. “If you do this, you’d better understand something. We’re a pack, alright, and there’s rules in the pack.”

“What does ‘pack’ mean?” The dragon seemed confused, and for a second Ghost felt sorry for him, wondering if dragons didn’t form families like wolves did. No wonder the giant creature sounded so lonely.

“Family. And pack means we stick together, no matter what. We protect each other. We take care of each other, no matter the cost. That’s pack.” Ghost sighed, shaking his head. “Not a very big pack anymore, but some of us are still left. There’s me, Jon, and his human blood of course.” The direwolf gave a snicker. “Your mother, too, now that he’s mated her.” 

Rhaegal nodded. “I understand.” He shifted uncomfortably, once more, unsure as he spoke again. “I can help you, you know.” Ghost squinted up, willing the beast to continue. “Protect your pack. Jon seems like he gets in a fair bit of trouble.” The dragon scraped a claw upon the ground aimlessly, his eyes meeting Ghost’s once more, full of yearning promise. “Awful lot of work for one direwolf, isn’t it?”

The dragon made excellent points, honestly, and Ghost was running out of reasons to deny the request beyond his own selfish desire to keep Jon all to himself. Pack wasn’t about selfish wants, though, and more than anything Ghost wanted Jon to be happy. And preferably alive.

But he couldn’t let the creature agree without warning him. It wouldn’t be fair. Even a dragon should fear what marched for them. “Bad things are coming. You need to know that before you agree to anything.” Ghost shivered. “Terrible things.”

Red eyes snapped to gold at Rhaegal’s unexpected rumbling growl, something very much like fury raising the spines on his massive neck. “The dead men.” Now, for the first time, Ghost could hear the menace that had lived freely in Drogon’s voice echoed in the green dragon’s deadly utterance. “I’m going to fucking kill them all.” As Ghost watched a glow began to form, deep within the dragon’s throat. “That fucker killed my brother.”

Ghost knew without asking who Rhaegal meant. He’d seen him. He could feel that dead man’s power, the one the winds whispered about. The Night King. And it was with genuine sorrow in his voice that he replied, “That’s terrible.” He paused, swallowing his own grief down. “About your brother. My wolf brothers are gone, too.”

Silence hung heavy between the two, until finally Ghost rose, walking close enough to feel the heat coming off Rhaegal’s great green body, comforting as the hearth, and he swung his head around until his muzzle touched the dragon’s. “Reckon we can be brothers, now. Be pack. If that’s what Jon wants.”

“Really?” Ghost hadn’t known dragons could whisper, but this one did, his voice thready with surprise.

“Aye.” The direwolf back off, snagging a piece of rib cage and biting down forcefully. “When it comes to Jon, I need all the help I can fucking get.”

\----------

“Right.” Ghost heaved out a steadying breath, glancing back at Rhaegal before looking back to the front gates of the Keep, where Jon had just burst out, charging across the snowpack as if his ass were aflame. Things had been fine that morning, better than fine judging by the incessant sounds of fucking coming from Jon’s chambers.

But things had changed, and by the stormclouds brewing on Jon’s face he was worked up into a right state, and he and his new packmate were going to have to get this sorted before anyone rode on any dragons.

“What’s wrong with him?” Rhaegal seemed confused, frowning, seeming to sense the man’s agitation as Ghost did, and the green beast slid low on his stomach, crawling up to join Ghost on the crest of an icy hill, both sets of eyes locked on Jon as he made his way to them.

“No telling, really.” Something churned within Ghost now, a turmoil that was not his, that belonged to the wolf who wore a man’s skin, the brother of his soul. “He gets like this a lot. Endlessly disappointed in everyone’s choices, generally speaking.”

“Well…” Rhaegal glanced his way with those great gold eyes, assessing the wolf. “Humans do seem to make shit choices.”

“You’re not wrong.” Ghost lifted his nose, opening his mouth to taste the air, feeling deep inside to try to find the source of Jon’s upset. “But this one tastes like betrayal.” Rhaegal began a low rumble in his chest, causing Ghost to laugh and press against the beast’s hide with his fur covered flank. “Steady, let’s wait and see if we have to kill anyone first.”

Jon stopped abruptly, feet away, seemingly not having noticed that it was not merely Ghost who stood waiting. He smelled faintly afraid for a moment, staring so hard at the green dragon that the direwolf began to wonder if it was Jon who might breathe fire. Seconds ticked by before Jon gave a deep and morose sigh, crossing to sit on Ghost’s other side, right on the ground, and within a heartbeat he was putting his head in his hands.

“It was all a lie, Ghost. All of it.” Jon whispered into the wind but Ghost heard it, not missing the slight hurt on the dragon’s face at not even being acknowledged. “I don’t know who in the fuck I am.” The wolf ached down to his bones with the pain coursing through the young King, the anguish in his voice.

Rhaegal was still and silent, unmoving as the chilly winds whipped past.

“He didn’t know.” Ghost’s whisper reached the dragon, who inclined his head.

“Didn’t know what?”

Ghost stretched his body out beside Jon, willing the man to lay his hand upon his snow white fur, nudging his head under one limp arm, whining quietly. “About the dragon blood.” He gave a whimper, licking at Jon’s gloved hand, meeting his brother’s eyes. “He does now.”

Rhaegal gave a sad rumbling purr in answer, saying nothing more, laying his scaly snout down on the snow.

How long they sat like that Ghost wasn’t sure, but none of the three moved until a thunderous crash sounded behind them, Jon’s head swiveling around in time to see Drogon landing and creeping forward. “What’s this, then?”

“Don’t start, brother.” Rhaegal gave his brother a warning, a threatening growl as he pulled his body up to stand, his green form a physical barrier between Drogon and the smaller forms of Jon and Ghost. “Not now.”

Drogon looked at them all suspiciously before his head raised, golden eyes staring off into the distance as his nostrils flared. “Mother’s coming.”

And she was, the Silver Dany, Jon’s mate. As she came closer her steps grew cautious and careful, and she did not approach Jon, instead going over to Drogon and scratching at his snout. Jon, Ghost saw, gave a little flinch but did not speak, his hand spasming against the wolf’s fur, his grip tightening almost painfully until Ghost gave a startled yelp.

“Fuck’s sake.” Ghost let out a beleaguered sigh, rising and slipping free of Jon’s hand. “We don’t have time for this shit.” The bad men, the bone men, they were coming closer every day, and whatever identity crisis Jon was stewing in was just going to have to wait. Ghost eyed Jon’s mate, who had looked up curiously at the sound of Ghost’s yelp, her eyes kind as the wolf padded over to her.

“Hello.” She had a nice voice, this Silver Dany, and no doubt nicer hands, and he brushed his large body against her skirts, marking her with his scent, marking her as pack while Jon looked on sadly. She gave him several scratches under his jaw, just where she’d scratched her dragon, and Ghost repaid her with several licks on her cheeks and palms, delighting in the small laugh the woman gave.

He looked back, at Jon, who continued to sit on his ass in the snow, not budging. He clearly wasn’t getting the hint. Fucking would make him feel better, of course, it always made Ghost feel right as rain, but Jon was as stubborn as they came when he fell into one of his black humors.

“Alright.” Rhaegal looked up as Ghost gave a call, his eyes searching the wolf’s. “Gonna have to do this the hard way, I reckon. Just jump right in.” He gave Jon’s mate one last good lick, making sure to stare right at Drogon as he did, who growled quietly at him, earning the dragon a shush from his mother.

“Stay low, like you are, but crawl forward. Put your head right behind him, close enough where he can touch you. But nice and slow.” Ghost saw Rhaegal stare at Jon with an eager hope in his eyes, and he prayed to the Old Ones that this would work. They had a war to win and he wasn’t going to let Jon muck around while there was fighting and fucking to be done.

The green dragon did as the wolf asked, creeping slowly, and just as slowly Jon’s head turned, watching the dragon approach. He was a little afraid, Ghost could feel it, but something else was building in the man, something he had wished for but hadn’t realistically expected. Jon was excited, he could smell it, and when he stripped off his glove and placed his hand on Rhaegal’s snout he couldn’t stop the exhalation of relief that rushed from him.

“That’s it, lad.” Ghost wasn’t sure who he meant just then, Rhaegal, or Jon, but both man and dragon closed their eyes the minute they made contact with each other. Something flared to life in his chest, then, hot and fiery and burning, something powerful sweeping over him, raising his hackles unconsciously. “Slowly, dragon, or you’ll burn me alive!”

“Sorry.” Rhaegal whispered once more, awe in his voice, his eyes locked onto Jon’s form. “I think he’s going to do it, Ghost.”

Ghost crept away from the Queen, standing behind the brother of his blood, his heart pounding in time with Jon’s. Maybe with the dragon’s as well, he couldn’t be sure, but there was such power singing through his veins then he felt as though he could sprout wings himself, just for a moment.

Jon was trembling, though his hand was still resting on Rhaegal’s snout, the green nostril flaring and constricting as the dragon fought to contain his own excitement. “Do what? Ride on your back?” Ghost scented at Jon, who was still excited, yes, but hesitation was souring the smell, the man sweating below all those furs.

Rhaegal wilted at the scent, recognizing it when Ghost did. “No.” The dragon gave a low whine. “Not yet. He’s afraid.” The green dragon stepped back one step, then two, forlorn, not even responding when his brother called out to the pair.

“Sorry, brother. Guess the wolf King isn’t so brave after all is he, you talking snack?” Drogon gave a bellowing laugh, and Rhaegal only withdrew further. Ghost, however, did not, glaring at the black beast, calculating, then deciding on a course of action.

“Can you get low enough for him to climb up?” Red eyes met sad amber, but the green dragon answered.

“I think so. I’ve seen him do it.” Rhaegal tipped his chin towards where his brother lay, crouched down low and receiving a settling brush of his mother’s hand, the Silver Dany watching anxiously now as her green son lowered his body further, his wing stretched out, the joints creating a ladder Jon could scramble up.

And Ghost came around, circling Jon’s body, staring first at him, then at the green dragon. Again. And again. And again.

Finally Jon realized what he was getting at, his somber brother leaning in close. “Ghost. Now’s not the time.” The King paused, peering at Rhaegal before whispering to Ghost again. “He could kill me if he doesn’t want me up there.”

Ghost growled in aggravation, grasping Jon’s leathers between his jaws and dragging the man to the lowered wing, coming around behind to butt his head against Jon’s ass forcefully. “Get up there, you stubborn shit.”

And Jon understood. He climbed, glancing over his shoulder at his mate, Silver Dany gasping at the sight and speaking a foreign tongue to Drogon, and at once the black dragon was lowering his own wing obligingly.

Ghost came around, his white fur buffeted by the cold wind, his face directly in Rhaegal’s line of vision. “Don’t fucking drop him.” He came close, his muzzle grazing Rhaegal’s snout, another brush of power arcing through him. “I’m trusting you.”

“I’ll be careful. I swear it.” Rhaegal was trembling with anticipation, the muscles in his hind legs bunching and tightening, and then he was running, Jon giving a startled yell as man and dragon raced along the ice, three steady flaps of mighty wings pitching them into the sky.

“Farewell, pony dog! Too bad you’re stuck down there, isn’t it?” Drogon screeched at him as he raced by, his mother laughing as she and her dragon joined Jon and Rhaegal.

Ghost watched until they were no more than tiny pinpricks in the sky, watched Jon leave him once more, to a place he could not follow.

He had thought he might feel more sadness, even jealousy.

But he was happy.

There was a tight joy in his massive white chest, Jon’s joy, Rhaegal’s joy.

Now, he had a new brother.

\------------

“When you say fucking,” Drogon drawled, “what exactly do you mean, snack?” The three were all gathered near the stone walls of the Keep, guards watching anxiously as the three creatures of legend circled and paced.

“Stop calling him that.” Rhaegal leaned in, nipping at Drogon’s swishing black tail. “He has a name.”

Drogon rolled his eyes, looking at his brother incredulously. “I’ll call him whatever I like. What’s he going to do? Howl me to death?”

Rhaegal glared, inching closer to Ghost. “He’s magic, like us, and he’s Jon’s, so you’d better behave.” The green dragon growled. “You know what mother said.”

The black dragon gave a dismissive snort, his eyes searching the windows of the Keep instead of Rhaegal or Ghost. “Be nice. Yes, I heard her. This is me. Being nice. Not eating this talking little snack.” His eyes shot to the wolf’s. “Rather nice of me, isn’t it,” teeth gnashed together, grinding as Drogon uttered grudgingly, “Ghost.”

The white wolf ignored the black dragon, his eyes also falling to the windows. “You want to know what fucking is or don’t you?”

“I want to know what it is you mean when you say Jon is fucking my mother, yes.” Drogon sounded angry, offended even, and Ghost was surprised two mighty creatures could be so absolutely innocent to the ways of the world. Why, he’d been fucking for years now. Surely there were girl dragons flying about somewhere, though the lack of fucking certainly explained the black dragon’s horrible attitude.

“I feel itchy.” Rhaegal was shifting restlessly beside him.

Ghost gave a wolfish grin. “You’re bonded to Jon now.” Rhaegal nodded though it was not a question. “That’s what it feels like when Jon’s fucking your mother.” The wolf’s mouth fell open, and he panted in Drogon’s direction. “Like an itch you need to scratch.”

His red eyes fell to the windows till he found the one he wanted, and he whispered for the duo to follow as closely as they could as they slid along side the ancient stone, ‘til they were just under the window to Jon’s chambers.

“Hear that?” He certainly could, and by the look of confusion on the dragons’ faces they could as well. The Silver Dany let out a throaty yell then, followed by Jon’s name, the sounds and smells of mating flowing from the open window and out into the night.

“Is he hurting her?” Drogon was rumbling and thrashing his tail about, rage building in those mad eyes.

But Rhaegal responded before Ghost could answer. “No.” He drew the word out, his head rising until he could look into the room for himself, then shooting back down to stare at Ghost. “Why are they doing that?”

Drogon mirrored his brother’s actions, even angrier but endlessly puzzled when he lowered his head as well, clearly befuddled by what he’d seen. “Explain this!”

Ghost gave a shrug, padding off a few paces, ready to give his brother a spot of privacy with his mate, heading for the clearing along the tree line where he could scent some rabbits running. “It’s what they do.” The pair was scrambling after him, landbound, awkwardly lumbering after the sleek wolf. “Humans.” Both dragons remained clueless, and Ghost snagged a hare and crunched down heavily, warm blood streaking his fur, downing the small prey in a few bites before continuing. “When they want to make a pup.”

Drogon shuddered as he watched Ghost eat. “You’re a fucking savage.” He grumbled and groused, claws swiping out to catch an elk, idly shooting out gouts of flame to cook the meat before he began to tear it apart. “You don’t even cook your food, little snack.”

Rhaegal ignored it all, focused only on this new knowledge. “But our mother is a dragon.” His eyes lit up, suddenly, turning to his brother in excitement. “It’s how they make eggs!”

Ghost gave a snicker. “Humans don’t lay eggs.” He looked at the pair with amused eyes. “You lot come from eggs?”

Rhaegal gave a nod, but Drogon preened, proud as he broke his meal’s rib cage between his jaws. “You should be so lucky. We certainly do. Beautiful eggs people pay large sums of gold for.”

Ghost crouched, his attention on the deer he could now sense beyond the tree line. “Like a chicken then.” He leapt as the black dragon roared in outrage, his jaws sinking into the deer’s neck, and he pulled the twitching body out of the treeline to drop it in a heap before Rhaegal.

“NOT LIKE A CHICKEN!”

Rhaegal looked at Ghost pleadingly before he cooked the deer his host had provided, his eyes begging the wolf to stop baiting his brother, and Ghost grumpily complied.

“Alright, not like a chicken. Point is, humans have pups that look like them, and they don’t come from eggs.” He sat on his haunches, watching the pair as they ate.

“So,” Rhaegal snapped into a femur, “you meant to say that’s what Jon’s doing. Trying to put a small human in our mother.”

The wolf couldn’t stop the snicker of amusement. “Oh, no he’s already done that.” He looked at the pair wonderingly. What sort of beast were they, that they couldn’t smell the pup in their mother? “Now he’s just fucking her because it feels good.”

“I hate you.” Drogon was growling but his heart wasn’t in it, more shocked offense at the wolf’s description than true anger, and Ghost felt a niggle of guilt at needling the mad creature so. “Truly I do.” The black beast shoved himself up from his crouch, the rest of his meal uneaten, breaking into a run across the clearing, and calling over his shoulder, “And I’ll hear no more of your filth about my mother, you little savage!”

Rhaegal said nothing until his brother was gone from sight, off pouting somewhere no doubt.

“Well,” he sighed, chewing thoughtfully. “At least he stopped calling you a snack.”

Ghost nodded. “Progress.”

\-------------

“MOTHER!” Drogon’s roar of distress reached Ghost’s ears, a frantic call from such a large creature, pitiful in nature, travelling across the field of dead men who finally stirred no more.

Drogon was a mad shit, that much was true, but he’d faced down the abomination that had been his brother, had danced in the skies, blue fire scorching and flaring against orange flame, his mother battling the Night King while Ghost remained on the ground, Jon atop Rhaegal somewhere, felt but still unseen.

The Night King was dead, and the bone men were finally at rest, but his heart pounded in terror.

Silver Dany had Jon’s pup in her, and she was Ghost’s pack too, and he must protect them. He raced across the dirty heaps of snow and soiled armor, blood pounding thickly through him, the smell that reached his nose making him give his own howl of terror.

She was hurt, Jon’s mate was hurt.

He found the dragon aground, lying on his side, blood pouring from a large gash in his chest as his head nudged at the fur covered heap beside him.

“Mother.” The word was a helpless groan, and Ghost was upon them in an instant, his mind reaching for Jon as hard as it could, begging him to hurry, to come to where the wolf was, to save his mate.

Ghost nosed at Silver Dany’s body and she stirred, her eyes flashing purple in the driving snow, her breath escaping in cloudy puffs. “Ghost.” He could hear the pain in her voice, but she did not bleed as her dragon did, her hands instead travelling to her leg, twisted unnaturally underneath her. “I’ve broken my leg, sweet boy.”

Drogon watched them through half-lidded eyes, exhaustion and terror swimming in their depths. “Take her, now! Take her to Jon!” The dragon’s breath was wheezing out. “Ghost, please!”

The white wolf was frozen for a second, surprise flooding him. He’d never used Ghost’s name before.

Ghost lay down, crawling over to the Queen’s body, nudging his nose under her torso. “Push her up on my back, if you can.” A great black snout was shoving his mother up and onto the wolf in a heartbeat, relief making the dragon finally relax, his body still steaming where it lay in the ice and snow.

“Go!” Ghost stood, waiting until the woman had wrapped her arms around his neck, finally feeling the prickle down his spine that meant Jon and Rhaegal were coming.

He gave one last look to the black dragon who had saved them all, amber eyes closing, the beast’s breathing finally slowing, and then he was off, streaking as steadily as he could and as fast as his paws could carry him, only slowing when Jon and Rhaegal came crashing down, Jon’s panic worming it’s way into Ghost’s heart before the man had even scrabbled down the dragon’s back.

“Dany! Dany!” Jon was frantically pulling his mate free, and Ghost stood still until her weight was free of him, Jon cradling her like a babe, carefully trying to scale Rhaegal’s back with his precious cargo.

“Get them home, as quickly as you can.” Rhaegal nodded seriously at the wolf’s request, his eyes flashing around desperately.

“Where’s my brother? Where’s Drogon?”

Red eyes finally broke away from following Jon’s progress to meet those of his packmate, his brother through Jon. “He’s hurt.” Rhaegal let out a desperate whine. “I’ll stay with him. Take care of your mother and Jon. Protect the pack, you understand?”

“Right.” Rhaegal’s voice grew in strength at the reminder. “Right. I will.” The dragon gave a heavy swallow, his large head turning to see that Jon and Silver Dany were securely on his back. “Protect my brother.” He swung his head back to look at Ghost. “I know you don’t like each other, but…”

“Of course I will.” Ghost chuffed in censure. “He’s pack too, of course.”

“Thank you, Ghost.” Rhaegal’s green snout slipped forward to brush Ghost’s muzzle carefully. “Thank you, brother.”

Ghost straightened, dancing on his forelegs a bit, anxious to get moving again before he grew too stiff in this frozen hell. “Enough of that, then. Off to Winterfell, now, all of you.”

\------------

Drogon’s body lay still, right where he’d last been, and Ghost was trepidatious in his approach, this dragon who held little affection for him liable to snap and snarl if he got too close.

If he wasn’t dead, of course.

“You alive over there?” His call reached the dragon’s ears, and his black head shifted in surprise as his eyes shot open, weary and pained.

“What are you doing here, little snack?” A snarl came, with little force behind it, and his eyes closed heavily. “Thought I told you to get my mother to safety, you little shit.”

Ghost rolled his eyes, stepping closer but mindful to keep clear of Drogon’s jaws. “Your brother and Jon came. Flew her back to Winterfell.” He lay himself heavily in the snow, watching the dragon closely. “She’ll be alright. The fat man will take care of her.”

Silence fell between them, nothing but the whistling of the wind through dead branches filling the air, until finally Drogon spoke again.

“Doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.” The black dragon did not look at him, but Ghost could hear the question in his voice, an unbidden fondness for the ill-tempered beast rising to the surface.

“And what?’ Ghost let his words hang in the air, waiting until yellow eyes met his. “You thought I’d just leave you here?”

Drogon only snorted in response.

Ghost shook his head, taking a chance, crawling closer on his stomach, a show of trust as he put his body close enough that the black dragon could eat him in a bite if he wished. And he did not miss the surprise in the dragon’s eyes at the move. “That’s not what pack is, you shit.” The wolf lay his head his paws. “We’re pack whether you like it or not.”

Drogon studied him carefully. “You’re just saying that because Jon’s fucking my mother.”

Ghost gave a hearty laugh, and was pleased to hear the dragon give a chuckle of his own, his head laying heavily back down on the ground. “Maybe at first.” He crept closer still, the dragon’s warm hide calling to him like a beacon, and he took a calculated risk, brushing his nose against Drogon’s snout. “But you did save us all. Least I could do is come back and look after you.”

For a moment, an almost unbearable heartbeat, he thought the dragon might eat him then and there, leathery lips parting to reveal sharp fangs.

But Drogon was smiling, he realized, a little pride creeping in to those golden, tired eyes. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes.” Ghost clucked his tongue, rising up and rounding the dragon’s body, examining the wound that had been gushing gouts of hot blood hours before. It was closing, but he very much doubted Drogon would be flying this day. “Don’t go getting a swelled head.” He worked his way down the dragon’s body, seeing no other signs of injury, and resumed his place near Drogon’s head. “Wound’s scabbing over. How long ‘til you can fly, do you think?”

“Mmmmm.” The dragon seemed to ponder this seriously. “A day or two if I don’t want to rip it open.” Suddenly those great eyes were pitiful. “I could heal faster with something to eat.”

Ghost leapt backwards, shocked. “You aren’t eating me, you dumb shit.”

Now Drogon gave a real laugh, from deep in his massive chest. “Not you.” He snapped his jaws in jest. “Not yet.” The dragon looked around the desolate field, no signs of life to be seen. “Go make yourself useful and fetch us some dinner, pony dog.”

Ghost growled, jesting, already running towards the treeline. “Don’t push your luck, chicken lizard.”

\-------------

It took three days, with Drogon grousing the entire time, a horrible patient to be sure.

And Ghost was no fat man, but he cared for him as best he could, pleased when he woke that third morning to find Drogon on his feet, giving his wings a testing flap.

“I’m ready.” When Drogon spoke it was off, it sounded strange to Ghost’s ears, and he padded near the dragon’s warm body curiously. 

“What’s happened to you?” His white head tipped sideways, bloody eyes trying to spot what was different about the beast, but the dragon only gave him a cunning smile. 

“I’m changing, you dumb shit.” A great rush of wind washed over the white wolf as Drogon ran, wings beating to push himself aloft. “First one back gets the first elk.”

The dragon was laughing uproariously, circling once before flying off in the direction of the Keep, and Ghost gave a groan only he could hear.

That was obviously cheating.

\--------------

The change wasn’t obvious to Ghost until the second day of his return, as he’d found himself consumed by many pats and pets and scratches from Jon and his mate, bones being tossed to him from the stone walled kitchens by friendly faces that had once shown fear.

It felt good to be a hero, he thought, padding out to the clearing he and his scaled pack members usually chose to recline during the day, finding only Rhaegal there with a strange expression on his face.

“I need to tell you something.” Jon’s dragon looked about as though fearful, and Ghost could feel the worry seeping from his words.

“Go on then.” Ghost gave himself a roll in the snow, trying to toss off the scent of all those human hands.

Rhaegal cleared his throat. “It’s about Drogon.”

“Aye.” Ghost stood looking about curiously. “Where is that dumb shit? He’s normally stomping around complaining by now.”

“Well,” the green dragon shifted his feet in the snow, “it’s like this, see.” The green dragon shut his eyes nervously, speaking in a sudden rush. “He’s a girl now.”

“He’s WHAT?” Ghost had seen plenty of strange things. Old Gods preserve him, he’d seen more than any direwolf before him. But this didn’t make any sense. Beasts didn’t just CHANGE like that. “So, he’s your sister now?”

Again the green dragon shifted, pawing his claws into the ground sheepishly. “Not exactly.”

“Old Ones keep me, just say it already!” He had a sneaking suspicion what the dragon was getting at, but it couldn’t be that. Surely not.

“I did the fucking thing you told me about.” Rhaegal gave a half-hearted smile, bearing his jaws. “You were right, it’s tremendous fun.”

“You mean to tell me you fucked your sister that used to be your brother?” He couldn’t help it. He’d never been so confused, laying down heavily in the snow and staring up at Jon’s dragon helplessly. “Fucking hells, man!”

“You don’t understand! We’re magic, yes?” Ghost nodded, but he couldn’t see what that had to do with anything. “Right, so what you also need to understand is we aren’t really related, I don’t think. We just hatched at the same time.”

“Fair enough.” Ghost’s words were a slow drawl. “But how is he now a she?”

Rhaegal paced almost frantically, desperate to explain. “That’s just it, you see, we can choose. And Jon and my mother, they’re mates now, right?” Ghost gave another nod. “Well, when one dragon rider and another are mates, it follows that their dragons mate as well.” Rhaegal was worked up into quite a spot, Ghost noted, watching the dragon swish his tail across the snow. “Get it? How else will we have eggs for mother’s babe?”

Ghost was silent, his ears twitching in the wind. It made a strange sort of sense, he supposed. He himself had been considering that Jon’s pup would certainly need it’s own wolf, running through his list of possible bitches he might get one or four on.

“I understand.” The wolf spoke calmly, willing the dragon who was as much a brother to him as Jon to settle, and slowly Rhaegal did, his body circling and crashing down to lay beside the wolf. “Still weird though, you know that, right?”

Rhaegal sighed. “I know.”

They were silent for long moments, companionable and still, before Ghost raised his head to stare at Rhaegal, nudging him playfully with his nose. “So how was it?”

“How was what?” Ghost had to marvel at the innocence that still remained in the green dragon.

“The fucking, of course.” 

Rhaegal sighed again, happily this time. “Terrific.”

Ghost gave a little shudder. “If you say so.”

A green snout nudged him now, hard enough to jostle his body. “Shut it.”

Ghost’s reply was stolen from him as Drogon’s large frame came crashing through the trees, stopping abruptly at the sight of wolf and dragon reclining together in the snow.

He gave a bit of a tremble as that scaly black body crawled forward in a flash, snout to snout with him in an instant and a blur of motion, surprised at the purely feminine voice that crept forth.

“Hello, little snack.”


	2. Skin and Scale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skin and Scale, Part 2 in the Series, originally posted April 24, 2019

“This is a terrible idea.” Drogon was squared off against her mate, their snouts feet apart as they hissed steam and smoke at each other.

Ghost watched idly, the remains of a nice fat pig spread before him as he looked on.

“We must.” There was such conviction in Rhaegal’s answering hiss that Ghost found himself surprised. Perhaps his soul brother had found his fucking balls after all. Normally Jon’s dragon was a pleasant sort of creature, certainly much more polite than his prickly, foul-tempered partner, but today he was in a right state. “We can wait no longer.”

Drogon spared Ghost a withering glance, pretending as though she’d just noticed him there when they both knew full well she’d been complaining about his messy eating habits not five minutes prior. Ghost snorted, glancing at the bloody mess on the snow. She was just jealous, Ghost thought. Silver Dany had given him this pig and it had made her dragon very cross.

“What say you, hound?”

Ghost looked between the pair, surprised the black dragon gave a single spare shit what he thought. She usually just did what she wanted anyway. And she had a mouth on her, that one.

And deep down, in the part of him that was bound to no human, the part of him that remained purely magic, purely beast, he held a deep and abiding admiration for her. He’d never say such to Rhaegal, but it was an open secret between them all who the alpha was between the two.

He looked towards Rhaegal. “Reckon he seems pretty insistent.” Ghost paused, swatting a chunk of snout to the side. That was his favorite bit, the one he’d save for later. “But if you want me to settle this you might start with telling me exactly what you’re fucking off to do, don’t you think?”

Ghost sat back and waited, having seen this little dance before. Dragons had secrets, just like every other creature, but they guarded theirs like people hoarded their metal bits. But pack had no secrets, he had made that clear to them both, in their time together, in this new pack they had made.

They stared at each other as they always did, gold on gold, and with a heavy sigh Drogon finally relented.

“We go to make an egg.” Ghost crept closer, his ears perking up, an interested curiosity building. “For mother’s little babe.” There passed, between the three, a reverant pause, because in this their hearts beat the same rhythm. This was the final tie that bound them.

Three moons ago Silver Dany had birthed her pup, and her name was Alysanne.

Ghost did not think of her by such name. It was far too long for such a tiny thing, for starters, and it had been shortened immediately by everyone who laid eyes on Jon’s perfect babe.

Well, almost perfect. It seemed to Ghost she could do with a bit more hair, the tiny girl possessing little more than a cap of wispy silver curls.

Silver Dany called her Little Aly, and so the dragons did as well; Even Rhaegal had adopted the name, to Ghost’s surprise.

Because Jon called her Sweet Aly, and that was the only name that seemed right to the direwolf. She was the sweetest little thing he’d ever laid eyes on, and since the day she’d come squalling into Ghost’s pack he had known no greater purpose than to sit himself beside her little cradle and wrap his large body around the frame. He could spend endless hours asleep with her, lounging in the newly-returned blaze of the sun as it passed along the stone floor.

Jon wanted Ghost by Sweet Aly always, and so he would be. He was her silent sentinel, the eyes that always watched over her, the shadow that lay in wait for anyone stupid enough to dare harm his sweet girl.

So he gave in to the quiver of pity he felt for Drogon, trying to make himself sound as understanding as possible, as he knew the cause for her distress.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to that babe.” He growled, giving her a flash of fang, blood still painting his muzzle from his almost-finished meal. “Ever.”

Drogon watched him, red eyes clashing with gold, her eyes challenging him as she suddenly charged, black scaly body heaving as she came within inches of his whiskers. “See that you don’t. Or you shall swiftly learn just how quickly you can die.” Her steaming jaws cracked wide, razor sharp fangs the size of his head on full display. “Or how slowly.”

Ghost gave no reaction, holding those amber eyes with his blood-red ones, leisurely standing and stretching. Finally he chuffed, dipping his head to rub his cheek against scales as hot as a furnace, marking her as pack once more before she left. “Be on your fucking way, already.”

Drogon gave one last great, gusting exhale, the sort she knew he hated, the sort that blew his fur back against the grain. “Behave yourself, you little shit.” She shifted back, giving Rhaegal one last, pointed glare, then spun around in a manner surprisingly graceful for a creature of such overwhelming mass and bulk.

She was gone in a swirl of wind and loud flapping of wings, giving a final, trumpeting cry, leaving wolf and dragon alone to say their goodbyes.

“Well,” Rhaegal sighed grimly, “that went well, all things considered.” Ghost came close, repeating the gesture he’d performed on the female dragon, taking care to rub both cheeks against each side of his large green jaws.

“I’m confused,” Ghost said, finishing up his task and padding back to look up into the dragon’s face. “If you need to fuck an egg into her why can’t you just do it here?”

Rhaegal swung his snout towards the keep. “It takes a great deal of magic to make an egg, brother. We must have complete solitude for such mighty works.”

Ghost snorted. “That,” he huffed, “was the most grandiose horseshit you’ve ever spouted.” Rhaegal just gave him another put-upon sigh, shaking his head and resting his head upon the ground so he could speak quietly. That was the odd thing, with these dragons, they always seemed to think someone was listening. “You make it sound like you’re taking her off for one massive, glorious fuck. The fuck to end all fucks.”

Rhaegal blinked at him, slowly, then titled his head slightly. “Well, I wouldn’t put it so crassly. But essentially.” He gave Ghost a doleful look. “In the most simplistic terms you might say that’s what we’re off to do.”

Ghost stared on, expectantly. “I’m not such a fucking simpleton that I missed the implication there, lad. But you already get up to your shenanigans here.”

Rhaegal seemed to be thinking, claws clacking together as he mused. “Little Aly is a special babe. We must make her a special dragon. The power we must build, what we will unleash in the process…” He trailed off, ticking his great head back towards the Keep as he spoke in hushed tones. “It would level everything for miles. It is not safe here for such undertakings.”

Ghost stayed silent, pondering the dragon’s words. Of the two it was Drogon who was prone to bouts of exaggeration, leaving the truth at the core of her tales to be whispered in the night air by Rhaegal after she would leave to hunt. And there was no doubting the truth of his words about his Sweet Aly.

There was power in her. He was not sure if it was something Jon and Silver Dany were aware of; They loved their little pup as all parents did, hard and fierce and deep as the sea, but it was not given to them to feel what their beasts did, it seemed to him.

But Ghost could feel it. She was full to the brim of it, something that made him feel like he’d woken up to a warm spring morning each time her tiny fist tangled in his fur. She would be a mighty thing, if they could protect her, if they could keep her safe.

Yes, Ghost thought. Sweet Aly needed a dragon of her own.

“Right then.” The wolf gave a short nod to his scaled brother. “Off with you. Best of luck on the fucking, though I will remind you I want to hear absolutely nothing of it when you return.”

“A warning, brother.” Rhaegal stood, shaking and preening before drawing himself up to stand proudly, a majestic picture of green and bronze and fire and smoke. “Remember.” He craned his neck down, curving over Ghost’s smaller form, close enough that they shared the same air. “Protect mother. Protect our girl.” A rumbling growl sprung from the dragon’s chest. “You and I, we are monsters of familiar form. But if he loses them,” the dragon’s voice sounded more menacing than he’d ever heard, “there will be none that draw breath that will be safe from his fury.”

“And we will be his weapons of war.” Ghost knew how it went, this mantra they repeated between themselves. For there was a monster inside of Jon, as well, and it had been born inside him with the arrival of Silver Dany, who he loved above all others. But when Sweet Aly had loosed that first loud, piercing cry into the night, that transformation had been complete. No man could command both dragon and wolf without having something of an animal within himself, and Jon had both.

Between the three, that night, between the thread that bound them by skin and scale, had bloomed a dark understanding. They were all monsters, all three, or they could be. Silver Dany and Sweet Aly were the things that could not be lost. They comprised the entirety of Jon’s heart.

If Jon’s heart was lost, Ghost knew there would be no quarter given, no mercy shown, no limit to the destruction the man would be capable of. It was only the goodness inside Jon that held back the creatures he commanded from such ruthless pursuits, even now. It was Jon’s humanity that kept them at bay, and they all knew it. If that tether snapped, it would mean little more than death and chaos and misery for the rest of their days.

“Aye.” Rhaegal sounded grave, swinging his head up to spy Drogon circling impatiently above. “See that it does not come to that.”

He was off without another word, his wings beating against the air to catch up with his mate.

Ghost shook his head, his eyes steady on the Keep before he turned to sniff at the remains of his meal.

“Well,” he complained, to no one at all, “now I’ve lost my appetite.”

\-----------------------

By the third night, Ghost was at his wit’s end. Jon and Silver Dany were restless, impatient; Both seemed a little unnerved by the absence of the dragons, and he tried not to take it too personally.

It would be a sweet relief, when they returned on the morrow, for his vigil by his Sweet Aly had been unrelenting, the wolf finding little time for sleep in his determination to stay alert to any and all signs of danger.

Jon’s hand did not stray from the pommel of his sword until it was removed for bed.

Silver Dany had acquired a short sword for herself, one that her armies used, the silent men in their black leathers. Jon and his deadly little wolf of a sister had been showing his mate how to use it, and it remained within arm’s reach no matter where Jon’s Queen wandered.

He could see the glint of it now, in the moonlight, the rustle of Jon preparing for bed in the adjoining room little more than a murmur to him above the sounds that surrounded him now.

Silver Dany had her babe at breast, smiling softly down at the tiny girl’s little face. Jon’s mate hummed a soft song, trailing a finger across a small, downy cheek before giving Ghost a long, scraping scratch down his spine.

He sat at attention beside the petite woman, a guardian fit for close quarters, only breaking his watchful pose to arch as she hit that special notch in his spine that made him groan.

“Are you faring well, dear boy?” She whispered to him softly, mindful of Sweet Aly’s drooping eyelids, the babe’s suckling slowing as she dropped off to sleep. Ghost looked down at her, panting, giving her a lick on the forehead. She didn’t understand him, not the way Jon did, but she understood enough.

She was a strong woman, a hard woman, a warrior shoved into a small frame, and as stubborn and hard-headed as Jon. And though he loved Jon in a way he loved no other, Ghost loved her, too. Ghost admired in her what he admired in her dragon. In this pair, just as with their dragons, Ghost knew who the true alpha was.

Jon could be, if he wished it. Silver Dany yielded to no one, but the few times Jon had pressed his case she relented easily enough. But Ghost knew Jon’s heart, and he knew the man had no desire to conquer this Dragon Queen. The wild freedom of her was a beautiful thing, in Jon’s mind, and Silver Dany was no thing that would be tamed.

Silver Dany stood, carefully, not wishing to disturb Ghost’s precious little pup as she tucked her away in to her cradle. He watched her sweep her palm across Sweet Aly’s curls, then lean down to press a kiss to the babe’s head.

And then she came, smiling, to stand before Ghost, giving him firm pats of most pleasing pressure and hugging him around his wide neck. “Be a good boy.”

He fought back a chiding chuff, because Silver Dany was smiling at him when she pulled back, and he knew she was teasing him. She could be a silly little thing, Ghost knew, and she liked to make Jon laugh, and the wolf liked that just fine.

As she pulled open the door that joined their chambers to the babe’s she stopped, beginning to tug her shift back up to cover her chest, and he felt an impatient dread when he heard Jon call out to his wife.

“Now don’t go putting those away, Dany, I’ve a mind to see them for a spell.”

Fucking perfect.

He heard Silver Dany giggle before she scolded him in a loud whisper. “Jon!” She peeked back at Ghost as he tucked himself around the cradle as always, the shadows in the room tucking him into a blanket of darkness. That would be all well and good, he supposed, but those shadows weren’t going to muffle the festivities that were about to be underway in the next room. “You’re going to wake her!”

He thanked the Old Gods when Jon’s Queen pulled the door shut, Jon’s reply the last thing he heard clearly.

“Then I guess you’d better come keep my mouth occupied.”

Ghost huffed to himself, tucking his head under a paw and settling in for the night.

\----------------------

It was not the sound of the latch that awoke him from a most unfortunate doze.

He heard it, of course, but by then he’d been fully awake, fully aware, silent though his heart pumped with dread in his chest.

It was the smell.

Sour, foul, acrid. An oily, nervous sweat, the sort that signaled something terrible was about to happen.

Oh, no. No, this would not stand, this he would not allow.

He listened, barely breathing, not wanting to give away his presence. One heartbeat, then another. He heard the scrape of a blade and real terror bloomed hot and sharp in his chest.

_Jon_, he thought. _Oh, Jon, you’d better wake up, you damned idiot. Wake up wake up wake up come quick you must come now!_

Ghost felt Jon awaken, and he crept, watching with perfect clarity in the dark as two men lingered at the door. They did not speak a word, only peering about as their eyes adjusted. No. He would not give them that opportunity.

The massive wolf struck, quick as lightning, the larger man nearest him only managing a choked gasp before Ghost had his throat between two powerful, snapping jaws. Hesitation was an unknown thing, fury burning through his veins, and he crushed the man’s windpipe in one great, crunching bite.

The man gave a strong twitch and Ghost only bit down harder, grinding his teeth, glorying in the fucker’s screams. He wanted to make it hurt, wanted nothing more than this man’s agony, but from the corner of his eye he saw the other man move, and he dropped the dead weight with a heavy thud.

Jon burst through the door just as Ghost whirled around, cornering the smaller man, sneering and snarling and waiting on for Jon’s word to give this man the gift of a most painful death. The man whimpered, a knife flashing in his hand, trembling as the tip of Jon’s blade touched the hollow of his throat.

“Who sent you?” Jon sounded more beast than man, his growl as threatening as any Ghost might conjure up, shirtless and wild-eyed and full of such righteous fury that it made the wolf shudder down to his very soul.

“The Lannisters send their regards.” Something hot and heavy slammed itself into Ghost’s mind just then, a wrath so deep and endless that he marveled it must have been the green dragon.

He was wrong, though. It was Jon. Jon and Silver Dany who had swept in hurriedly, taking her babe and holding her against her chest.

And Jon did not need to speak to Ghost, in that moment, because Ghost knew what Jon wanted. 

_Kill_, came the whisper in his soul. _Destroy him. End him. Protect your pack._

It was what Ghost wanted, too.

Jon had barely pulled his blade back before Ghost struck, a final time, a shriek of terror escaping before Ghost made sure this man would speak no more. And as he punctured skin and spilled the filthy traitor’s blood, as he crunched bone and snapped tendon, he thought he’d like nothing better than to see this man’s head removed clean off his body. Just to be sure, of course. Just to be safe.

So he did.

“Good boy.” Jon laid a heavy, trembling hand on Ghost’s back, waiting until the wolf had relaxed before coming closer, looking down at the wolf’s handiwork and burying his face in Ghost’s fur.

“Good boy, Ghost.” Tears began to fall hot, a brittle sob shaking Jon’s chest, Silver Dany’s soft, moaning cry rising to join the chorus. Jon’s arms wrapped around the wolf’s neck, his brother collapsing against him as Ghost felt the anger that roiled through them both withdraw to a hot, steaming simmer. Now it was overshadowed by shock, and horror, and relief. “What a good boy you are.”

The wolf was silent, his eyes only meant for Sweet Aly now. His pup was safe, and that was what mattered.

\----------------

The dragons returned with the dawn, and with them they brought such a screaming, awful fury that the people in the Keep shook with it.

They were angry.

They knew, he had no doubt. Whatever it was that lay between wolf and dragon and man existed between Silver Dany and her dragon as well, and the pair were so wroth that Jon and his mate had been forced to exert a great deal of their own will in keeping the beasts from storming their way into the Keep.

Ghost had been looking forward to some much longed-for sleep, but Jon had other plans, sending him out to see if he could settle down the unruly creatures before everyone at Winterfell pissed themselves collectively.

“BRING THEM TO ME!” He’d set one fucking paw into the clearing they paced when Drogon was upon him. “I WILL SEE THEM BURN! TRAITORS!”

“They’re dead.” Ghost looked between the two. “You can be fucking sure of that.”

Drogon was still seething, the back of her throat glowing red with barely-suppressed rage. “Good.” Her tail swished angrily. “And my mother?”

Ghost rolled his eyes. “She’s fine. They’re all fine.” He narrowed his eyes, gazing up at the great black dragon. “Besides, you’ll get your chance to rain your fire down on them.” Ghost cast his red gaze to Rhaegal, who was watching him intently, the green dragon’s own fury barely under control. “You’re off to war, soon, to kill the bitch who set murderers on Sweet Aly.”

A dark and malevolent fury appeared in Drogon’s eyes, and she turned slowly to stare at Rhaegal, who let a rumble begin in his chest as he nodded in agreement. “With pleasure,” the green dragon muttered, his anger barely cooled.

Drogon turned back to him, suddenly, considering. “Are you coming?”

“No.” Ghost stood taller, his back straight, ears and tail held high in the slowly thawing northern air. “I’m to stay here, with Sweet Aly. War is no place for a babe.”

It was Rhaegal who scoffed at the idea, but he knew it was fear, and not doubt that prompted his brother’s response. “They mean to leave her here? Without at least one dragon to guard her?”

Ghost shrugged, glancing between the two and wondering if what he had imagined was good-natured ribbing was truly a lack of faith in his own ability to fight for his family. He wasn’t as big as they were, it was true, and maybe he didn’t breathe fire, but he could deal death out as surely as they did, if not a bit messier.

“She will have Ghost.” Rhaegal looked on in surprise as Drogon spoke, and it was a sensation the wolf felt as well, followed swiftly and embarrassingly by a rush of pride within Ghost’s heart. “That will be enough.”

“Aye.” Rhaegal gave a nod, the two dragons shifting and settling now that their tempers had begun to cool. “It will have to be.”

“You’re fucking right that’s enough.” Ghost muttered loudly as he glared at the two. “It’s more than fucking enough.”

“Oh, do be quiet.” Drogon’s rare belief in him had sifted away, her mood returning to it’s formerly thorny state. “Smugness is a very unattractive quality in someone so small.”

Rhaegal’s chuckle earned the green dragon a scowl from Ghost. “Where’s this magical egg, then?”

Jon’s dragon only smiled a secret smile at the wolf’s question, his eyes meeting Drogon’s over Ghost’s head. “You will see,” Rhaegal intoned, “when it is time.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of your riddles and half-answers?” Ghost narrowed his eyes, wondering that the green dragon persisted in refusing to give a direct answer. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”

Drogon swept her wings in the melting snows around her, green grass starting to peek through as winter slowly came to a close. “That’s because you are an idiot, and that’s hardly his fault.”

And she was nothing but amused as he rolled his eyes, giving him a simpering smile as she set drew her limbs up, curling and relaxing into sleepy repose. “When the girl is ready, she will hatch my egg. Until then you will have to wait.”

“Until then you will have to wait,” he repeated back, mocking her even as he stepped over to where Rhaegal lay, easing himself down against the green dragon’s warm side, sleep calling him as surely as it did them.

The dragons were home, and his watch had ended.

At least for a few hours.


	3. Blood and Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third work in this series - though I've saved one last story for an epilogue to come.

Love, Ghost thought, had the capacity to make man and beast alike into absolute fools.

It had to be love that made Jon, the head of this rather haphazard pack of theirs, take every chance to spar with his bannermen. It wasn’t the sparring that was so odd, it was the fact that he’d do it bare-chested, his scarred torso on full display. And he did *that*, Ghost knew, because inevitably Silver Dany would wander near, like a moth to a flame, and then the next thing anyone knew they’d be sending everyone away to fuck like jackrabbits in the stables, or the armory, or whatever flat surface Jon could sort out on short notice.

It was all rather undignified, of course, and not nearly the secret those two seemed to think, but love made fools of everyone, even Kings and Queens.

It had to be love that made Rhaegal, stoic and somber and serious, dote and hover like a nursemaid over Drogon who allegedly now sheltered some mysterious magical egg within her enormous form, though Ghost had always found the proof to be in the pudding, so he would believe that tale when he laid eyes on the egg, please and thank you.

His green, scaly brother could barely be bothered to hunt with the wolf anymore, at least not for sport, his attention solely on one of the few other beings in the world who was perfectly capable of defending herself.

She reminded Rhaegal of this often, and with loud complaints peppered with some of the more choice Northern curses Ghost had taught her, but to no avail.

And it was most definitively love, albeit of a different sort, that had placed him in his current misery.

Jon and Silver Dany had decided, after they’d put down their enemies and Drogon and Rhaegal had leveled a place called the Red Keep, that there would be no lasting peace unless they tried to make allies of *all* the Kingdoms that remained, and so it was decided that they must go on something Jon’s mate called a ‘tour’; Ghost thought it might best be called a parade of absurdity, and he was the biggest fool of them all.

But he loved Sweet Aly. He would do anything for Jon’s little pup, *his* little pup. Ghost was by her side every moment of every day. When the wee girl had taken her first faltering, doddering, stumbling steps, she had done so with her hands grasping his fur so tightly he thought she’d rip it out by the tiny handful.

Ghost loved Sweet Aly as if she were his pup to care for, and so he tried to behave.

When their procession of carriages and carts would arrive at village after endless village, it was always the same. The people would gather, a bit nervous and unsure when great, leathery wings would cast long shadows across the land below, but then Jon would hop off his horse, and Silver Dany would emerge from the carriage she detested riding in, save that it was a measure of protection for the small girl who rode inside with her mother.

No sacrifice was too great when it came to Sweet Aly’s safety. Even Drogon and Rhaegal eschewed their normal desire for a bit of space when they would arrive at these small hamlets dotting the landscape, crowding close to the edges of towns and ignoring the acrid stench of fear that would inevitably hover over the place for at least the first day.

But Silver Dany could befriend just about anyone, Ghost reckoned, and it would only be a matter of hours before the wives and children would cluster about her, tales of those with dragon blood still told by those old enough to remember them that had come before, and soon fear would turn to grudging respect, and then…

Oh, and then Sweet Aly, who’d just passed her third year, would laugh, or dance about while one of the villagers would strike up a tune, and in short order they were all of them enchanted with this small family who commanded very large beasts.

He understood, as did his packmates of the non-human variety, that this was important. They were striking a balance, he knew, between fear and love. Oh, it might be easier going if wolf and dragon did not accompany their family, if they stayed out of sight, were less intimidating in their arrival.

But humans needed reminding, regularly, Jon had told him. They needed to remember that while Jon and his mate sought to rule in a kindly and just manner, it would be so very easy to snuff the life from their enemies, just as Drogon and Rhaegal and Jon and Silver Dany had done in a place called the Crownlands, while Ghost had remained behind to guard his most precious ward.

They needed to remember, Jon had said, exactly who it was they were dealing with.

When Jon had impressed upon him the need for Ghost, as the most…accessible…member of the pack, to lead the charge in this respect, the wolf had not entirely understood what that would require of him.

Unfortunately, in the Riverlands, that meant becoming unbearably sticky rather quickly. Masses of children, swarms of them, *plagues* of them would see Sweet Aly playing with him and it always devolved into a pile of giggling, messy faces that would plunge themselves into his fur and pull at his ears and tail, and it took all his will not to snap or nip, to play the part of a docile hound instead of a beast of war.

It made Sweet Aly so happy, though, to play with these awful little ruffians, and it made Silver Dany happy, and those conditions were quite necessary to Jon’s own happiness. So he bore it, despite the prodding of Drogon when the village children would place a crown of flowers upon his head, or braid ribbons into his shaggy white coat.

In the end, he cared that his pack was happy, and safe. He loved them, all of them, but Sweet Aly most of all, even if it made a fool of him.

Today, in the sweltering spring humidity of these lowlands, he had grown quite sticky indeed, as honey had been procured and made into treats, and these treats had found their way into the hands of the children in this village, and those hands had made their way through his fur for hours.

Hours and hours.

He lay on his side under a large shade tree, on the banks of a river whose name he did not know, content though his fur stuck and pulled in myriad places, as Silver Dany and his wee girlpup waved farewell to the last of the children, mothers smiling over their shoulders at the Queen as they whisked their small ones into little stone homes to prepare for bed.

Success, he thought to himself, letting out a heavy, low groan, staring up at Jon’s mate with doleful eyes, begging for assistance as she gave him a regretful once-over.

“Oh, Ghost, you poor dear.” She leaned in close, smelling of fire, and Jon, and dragons, and home. “Let us get you set to rights.” She glanced at Sweet Aly, who clapped her chubby hands together at her mother’s words, already knowing what the Queen intended.

“Bath!” She began to chant it, dancing a silly little jig while her mother laughed. “Bath for Ghost! Bath for Ghost!”

Silver Dany shucked off her boots, rolling up her trouser legs and shedding her fine black tunic, tucking her shift in at her waist. She gave a nod, and Ghost heaved himself up, padding down the muddy bank and submerging himself in the river’s embrace a few feet from shore.

Jon emerged from the treeline just as his mate began to wade in as well, Sweet Aly still watching with glee beside the tree, and he grabbed Silver Dany’s attention with a birdlike whistle, approaching with a lazy smile and tossing her a rectangular bar.

“Begged it off a stablehand.” Ghost fought another groan, catching the scent. Lye. He hated the smell, it irritated his nose until it faded, obscuring the more subtle scents around him for hours.

But, if he wanted to be clean, he’d have to bear this as well, so he gritted his teeth, holding very still as Silver Dany worked him over, crouching when she needed him to as she only barely reached the top of his shoulder when he stood at his full height.

When she carefully washed at his face, paying special care around his eyes and the sticky, matted fur along his muzzle, she whispered the one reassurance guaranteed to placate him.

“You’ve been such a good boy, Ghost, that I suspect you’ve earned yourself two very fat hogs for dinner.”

He couldn’t stop the hungry whine that escaped; she knew him too well, Silver Dany, especially his weaknesses. And just below the love he had for his pack was his love for a sweet, savory pig to feast upon after a long day of placating what seemed to be the world in exchange for his pack’s safety.

Silver Dany laughed, looking up at the shore to see that Jon had swept Sweet Aly up onto his shoulders, sire and pup watching as Ghost was attended to. “How is it, Jon Snow, that I am tending to *your* wolf?”

Ghost knew she meant it in jest, but he gave her an offended snort all the same. Throwing the wolf a wink, she gave the brother of his blood a mocking, menacing glare, wet hands landing on her hips.

Jon merely smiled wider, walking a circuit and bouncing Sweet Aly who slid her small fingers over her father’s eyes. Batting the girl’s fingers away gently, Jon met his mate’s eyes and gave a muted shrug.

“He won’t hold still for me, Dany. Though I suspect that’s got more to do with the pigs than anything else.” Now it was his turn to look skeptical, staring between the woman and beast in the water.

Dany placed a protective hand on Ghost’s head. “He deserves it, you silly man.”

“He’s just going to get messy again, you know.” Sweet Aly squealed at this, merry as her father swung her down from his shoulders. Man and girl came closer, within feet of the water, as close as Jon dared go without his pup in his arms.

Sweet Aly directed her focus to Ghost, then, squinting at him in the dying twilight, oblivious to her parents’ playful sparring. “Ghost can shake?”

He panted happily in response, letting his tongue loll out, checking his gaze back to Silver Dany who gave him a nod. “We’re done, sweet boy.”

Ghost ignored Jon’s scoff; He could be sweet and good if he wished, but right now he would be messy, because this was Sweet Aly’s favorite part. Sopping wet, river water streaming from his fur, he made his way up the bank a yard or so, turning and waiting for Jon and the girl to join him.

Jon kept his distance, wisely, but Sweet Aly scampered close, and Ghost waited, fighting the urge to do what she wanted until she was near enough and assumed what Jon liked to call her ‘fighting stance’, her feet spreading apart and her arms coming up, ready to cover her face for what came next.

“Shake, Ghost, shake!” Sweet Aly’s wish was his command, and he began to shake the water from his body with great, twisting movements, sheets of water flying high and far, the girl screaming and laughing as she ran in circles, playing in the water as though it were all a great game.

When Sweet Aly laughed it was like a song, and Ghost looked back at Jon to find that Silver Dany had left the water to stand at Jon’s side, their arms wound around each other, the dying sun revealing the wetness welling in their eyes as they watched their pup play with him.

“You really are a proper lad, Ghost,” Jon finally said once Ghost had stopped, satisfied he’d worked all the water off that he could, leaving the rest of it for the night air to dispose of, and he looped an arm around Ghost’s thick neck. Dany murmured her agreement, tucking herself in under Jon’s other arm, her hand clasping Sweet Aly’s as the wet girl grinned up at them all.

They made their way quietly up the trail to the village square, together, content, because they were a pack, and they were surviving.

And Ghost thought to himself, with his aching bones and hungry stomach, for the first time, that for this pack to be complete, he needed a pup of his own.

\-----------

Silver Dany had made good on her promise, and under the cover of night Ghost had dunked himself once more into the flowing waters, ridding himself of the bloody mess his meal had made, thanking the Old Gods that blood washed out much more easily than honey.

He settled himself in for the night just outside the door of the room the three humans all shared, Jon and Dany opting more often than not to let Sweet Aly climb into their bed and snuggle between them in the night, assured of her safety and security between them both.

He slept, but it was fitful, and he could still feel the fog of sleep hanging heavy over him when he finally gave up on finding anymore rest curled up on the wooden floor. Silver Dany’s horselords watched with respectful eyes as he glared at them in turn, willing them to understand that they would protect this room and the occupants inside or face his wrath.

The sky was still a steely gray, the sun not yet piercing the horizon, and it was as he crept on silent paws out of doors to relieve himself that he saw her.

Arya, the wolf sister. Arya had belonged to Ghost’s sister once, but while Nymeria had shown herself in time for the fight against those icy fuckers, she had quickly disappeared, taking a pack that numbered in the thousands with her.

It hurt the girl, this much Ghost knew for certain. There had been several times, along the course of this tour, that the girl had curled up beside the white wolf before a blazing hearth, whispering to him how much she missed her own wolf, how she still dreamed with his wayward sister though they were parted, how she hoped one day the wild wolf would return to the fold.

Ghost wished for the same, but he doubted it would happen.

She did not act as though she’d seen him, perched like a cat on the wooden railing of the staircase, her eyes on the copse of trees a short distance away, the early morning mist coating everything in dew so that his legs were quite damp when he had finished tending to his business in a tall fringe of grass.

He cast his soul about, sensing that Drogon and Rhaegal slumbered on, likely not to awaken until the sun chose to, and made his way over to Jon’s deadly little sister. He knew she’d sensed him, because the girl didn’t miss a trick, near impossible to sneak up on even for one as silent as Ghost prided himself on being.

“Ghost.” She gave him a whispered acknowledgement and a scratch along his jaw, tickling under his chin just like he liked best.

He stayed still as a statue, training his gaze to where hers remained, on the trees in the distance, when he caught a whiff of something on the wind, something familiar, that called to mind his days as a pup, before everything had gone to absolute shit before binding itself back together in the most wonderful of ways.

It smelled like pack.

It smelled like…

“Nymeria.” Arya whispered once more, her face twisting with emotion when Ghost flicked his eyes towards her. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

She didn’t wait for a response at all, leaping down onto the hardpacked earth below, her booted feet slapping the ground like the rhythm of a war drum, like the pounding of Ghost’s heart as he followed close after, overtaking her midway there and forcibly pushing his body into hers.

Arya stumbled, staring at him with an open mouth and shocked eyes, but Ghost held firm, stopping her progress again when she made to go around him. She did not know what Ghost knew.

Nymeria was not alone.

Ghost huffed out an aggravated breath, wondering exactly how much trouble this was going to stir up. She’d brought that blasted pack with her, great in number, though as he felt his packmate come closer the teeming thousands that followed her remained behind, though still she wasn’t completely alone.

The white wolf cast a glance back at the sleeping hamlet behind him, knowing it would be all shouts and screams if those common beasts were to descend on this place, and so he grudgingly began to walk towards the one who had come, Arya seeming to sense his cautiousness and mirroring his slow, steady pace.

And then she was there, larger than when he’d last seen her, his pack sister who had a soul as wild as the one within the girl beside him, and he stopped, allowing the girl to approach her wolf alone.

Nymeria was *hers* after all, though she was Ghost’s through the bonds of blood and bone. But Ghost had learned that the bonds of the heart, the ties that bound their souls as one ran far deeper and stronger.

Ghost averted his gaze the moment the girl threw her arms around the grey wolf’s neck, pretending he did not feel the swell of relief that seemed to radiate from Nymeria as she allowed herself to be embraced. He had wondered if she’d gone a bit too wild, had forgone the oaths the Old Ones had sworn to the blood of House Stark so very long ago, had forsaken the call of blood and pack, and gladness swelled within his heart at the confirmation that it had not, though he tried his level best to ignore it all.

Unlike some dragons he knew, he was capable of minding his own business.

He looked about in the direction where he knew said dragons were resting, unsure of how they would take to Nymeria and her monstrous pack this close to where their family lay sleeping peacefully.

“Brother.” Nymeria dipped her head, the girl Arya’s face buried in her neck, attempting a regality which was absurd with a human draped around her like a scarf.

“Fuck that,” Ghost scoffed, chuffing and coming close to lick at her face, rubbing his muzzle against hers in real greeting.

Arya drew back as the wolves came closer together, allowing them space to circle and sniff and reacquaint themselves, a quiet peace settling over her as she looked on with a silent smile, seemingly content to be near her wolf.

“You’ve been busy, Ghost.” There was a mocking edge in her words, and Ghost cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“Well that’s a fine how do you do, and as a matter of fact I have been busy, sister. Quite busy, as it so happens.”

Nymeria wrinkled her nose as she sniffed at him more deeply. “You smell like those awful beasts you consort with.”

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Not this again.” Nymeria had made no secret of her distaste with some of the newest members of Ghost’s pack. “They’re a sight better than the mangy excuses for wolves you run with, dear sister.”

She gave him a sharp nip to his flank in warning, circling back around to stand before him nose to nose. “’Someone here who has business with you, brother.” Twisting her head around, she barked a command and soon, emerging from the trees, came a trio of wolves far too large to be timber wolves like the sort that roamed these lands.

“These lands are mine, I will remind you. I trust your business will be completed soon?” Ghost let his eyes roam the approaching forms before glancing back at Nymeria with a put-upon sigh.

“The sooner the better for both of us I should think,” he muttered, eyeing Arya quickly. “Except for her, I suspect. She misses you something terrible.”

Now it was Nymeria who sighed, eyeing the girl closely, something regretful in the depths of her tawny eyes when she looked back at Ghost. “I cannot stay. I have my own pack to be tending to, and I cannot abandon them now.”

Movement over Nymeria’s shoulder drew his attention, and he felt a flicker of excitement when he realized he’d been right, these were direwolves with his sister, though where she’d found them he could not begin to say. There were few still beyond that broken, icy wall, but none this far south that he’d found.

And one of them, he noticed, looked exceedingly familiar.

Oh, yes, he knew this one, this great black direwolf with amber eyes, a lovely bitch he’d chanced across in the days following their Great War to the north, and when she narrowed her eyes at him in return he knew she remembered as well.

“Lily, as I live and breathe!” Gold eyes traveled his form, and he straightened proudly, preening and puffing up for her inspection.

“Shocking, really, that you remain both living *and* breathing.” Oh, but she was a sharp-tongued thing, this sable-furred vixen he’d spent several enjoyable days with. It was one of the things he’d liked most about her, this black wolf with her hard, icy heart, so much like his own.

But his had thawed since they’d last met, and he let his tail wag happily, even as she chuffed in irritation at the movement. He saw the flicker of amusement in those yellow depths, so he let her rebuke pass unchecked, his attention snatched away again as he scented something strange.

When she peered down at her side, at the cream-colored little body winding through her legs in nervous excitement, he thought, for the first time in his life, that his heart might beat itself right out of his chest, or stop completely.

It would be one or the other, he knew, because this was a pup, though it was no newly-whelped babe. A girl pup, who looked to be at least a year along, beginning to grow gangly and long limbed though she could still easily walk under her mother’s body to tuck herself away from his gaze.

“As I said,” Nymeria drawled from beside him, “you’ve been busy, brother.”

“Mine?” The question escaped on a gasp, and he found himself short of breath, almost dizzy, his eyes drinking in every hair and tuft of fur, and then the girl pup looked at him and he wanted to weep for it.

Her eyes, of such startling green that they looked to be hewn from emeralds, the clear, warm green of a spring meadow, stared back at him with an odd mix of fear and wonder. “Green eyes.” He looked from Lily to Nymeria, joy building in his chest. “This one is touched by the Old Gods.”

“She is,” Lily agreed, “and she can no longer stay under my care.”

Ghost’s head whipped up to look at his pup’s mother, though he was reluctant to take his eyes off this little furry miracle for even one second, hungry to look upon her and examine her and teach her all that he knew. “What’d you mean?”

“She is not meant to be mine any longer. She is your charge now, Ghost of Winterfell.” The black wolf crept in close, a snarl building. “You will protect her or I shall hunt you down and leave what’s left to the vultures.”

The white wolf let out a nervous chuckle. “Right, then. No pressure at all.” He swallowed, eyeing the pup as her mother retreated to push her towards Ghost with her nose, the smaller wolf finally overcoming her lingering hesitation to come close and sniff at her sire curiously, and it was the most wonderful thing Ghost had ever experienced.

“I have something for the girl, as well.” Nymeria’s words broke through his rapturous entrancement, and he listened as best he could, wanting to wriggle with glee just as Sweet Aly did when the pup circled him then sunk low, her haunches up, leaping and nipping at him as she sought to play.

When he finally broke his gaze from his very own pup he found Nymeria staring at Arya with something approaching mourning in her eyes. She chuffed, low in her throat, and from behind one of the other direwolf bitches came much smaller pup, just weaned from the size of her, another girl pup but this one no whelp of Ghost’s.

This was Nymeria’s pup, and even the air seemed to still as the breeze died suddenly, the sun rising just enough to wash them in golden rays of light as she picked the squirming pup up by the scruff of it’s neck, her teeth so very gentle as she slowly approached the girl who had been hers.

Arya seemed to understand the moment Ghost did, and she began to weep even as she smiled, her head bowing as she took the pup with tender hands, her voice breaking as she addressed Nymeria for what Ghost suspected might be the final time.

“Thank you, girl.” Arya sniffed, her hands unable to wipe at the stream of tears that coursed down her cheeks, and it didn’t matter then, because Arya loved Nymeria just as Jon loved Ghost, and saying goodbye to those you loved was a painful thing, like being stabbed in the heart, like being locked away, helpless. “But I shall miss you even still.”

Nymeria came so close that her nose touched the tip of the girls, and she sweetly licked away the girl’s tears. “Watch them for me, Ghost. Take care of them. I’m trusting you, brother.”

“Of course,” Ghost choked out, his own chest tight though it was filled with a father’s joy, because he had said goodbye to all his packmates but this one, and it made a sharp pain lance through his soul, though he knew it was for the best.

Nymeria walked back, her eyes locked on those before her, the pack she had left behind, and she turned, retreating and flanked by the last direwolves in Westeros.

She did not look back.

Ghost watched until he could not see her anymore, and in his heart he said goodbye to his sister. This pain, though, this ache that such farewells brought, was eased when his eyes fell on his little green-eyed pup, with fur the color of cornsilk.

“C’mon then, Ghost.” Arya cleared her throat, her tears drying, her pup held tight to her chest. “Let us give them a proper welcome.”

\-------------

When Jon’s sister made to take her little pup inside, Ghost demurred, leading his little lass back out into a nearby clearing, glad to finally be alone with this little life that he had created.

Oh, but she was a beautiful thing, the promise of a great and fearsome wolf still dormant in her fluffy, fuzzy coat, her eyes still round and curious, ears pricking up at each new sound, as if everything was a discovery.

He could not remember ever being filled with such pride, such a bone-deep sense of contentment, save, perhaps, for hours spent at his Sweet Aly’s side, and he realized quite suddenly just why Nymeria and her pack had come; This pup’s purpose was clear to him.

“You shall belong to Sweet Aly, my little lass.” His pup, in return, said not a word, only panting and smiling and rolling around in the still-damp grass before catching a mouthful of the green blades and munching happily.

“Oh, yes, that’s good, nothing like a bit of roughage, eh?” Still nothing, though she titled her head and him curiously, her creamy fur gilded in golds and pinks in the rising morning sun. “Keep the old system in tip-top shape.”

He squinted his red eyes at her when still she kept her silence, but he thought perhaps she was still a bit unnerved, being in a new place and all, settling in with a new family.

And it was with that thought that he felt a stirring, deep within. Rhaegal was awake.

“Come with me lass,” he said, stalking exaggeratedly and crouching low so as not to be seen in the tall grass, laughing inwardly when she mimicked him, as silent as he on her soft paws. “And whatever you do, don’t be afraid.”

\------------

The first lesson Ghost learned, as father to a partly grown pup, was not to suggest there was something to be afraid of. His pup had been on edge from the moment she’d spotted those great scaly forms, Rhaegal spotting them and seeming to know that he ought to stay very, very still, no doubt discerning that he was very much in the company of another.

She was a brave little ball of fur and claws and bright green eyes, for though she tensed and had to be coaxed into approaching Jon’s great dragon, she hid her fear well, curiosity beginning to spark to life when it became obvious that Rhaegal did not mean her any harm.

And, for his part, Rhaegal had realized the situation in short order, his eyes growing comically large, heat radiating from his body as he shifted just barely, adjusting his wings to fit more tightly to himself, perhaps to make himself smaller, less intimidating. He knew, of course he knew, that this was Ghost’s pup.

“Oh, my. Oh, my my my.” He looked between the wolves, one white as snow and one a creamy ivory, one with eyes of ruby and the other with eyes like emeralds. “You’ve done it, old chap. You’ve really done it!” He gave a great, gusty exhale, both wolves finding their fur blown back, the pup Ghost’s side letting out a startled yelp and scurrying behind her father’s large frame. She peeked her head above her father’s shoulder meekly. “My word, what a lovely little thing she is.” 

He felt warmth bloom anew in his chest, knowing the dragon truly was happy for him, a joy shared by two now, the threads that bound their souls positively dancing with delight. “Aye, isn’t she though?” Ghost looked fondly back at his pup. “It’s all right, lass, you’ll get used to the breath. They’re dragons, you see?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, one small paw at a time, his girl crept forward, until only a foot of space lay between her and the green dragon. And Rhaegal, thoughtful, kind Rheagal, whispered gently so as not to frighten her further. “You can come closer and smell, if you like. I won’t eat you up, you have my word.”

Green eyes, so full of blind, loving trust that it shook Ghost to his core, met his, and he gave the pup an encouraging nod. “Aye, he’s part of our pack. You have no need to fear him.” Still, she hesitated, giving a delicate sniff in the dragon’s direction but unsure, intimidated by the warmth that radiated from the great scaled beast, by the smell of fire and brimstone that escaped his snout with each breath. “We’re brothers, you see.”

The pup gave a whine, still no words to be found, but it didn’t matter a whit to Ghost, because his brave little lass closed the last bit of distance then, nosing at Rhaegal’s muzzle for several seconds before pulling back and sneezing, thrice, in rapid succession.

“That bit takes some getting used to as well, lass.” He screwed up his own nose. “Smell a bit like a furnace, don’t they?” The pup’s head tipped to the side, confused. “Aye, you don’t know what a furnace is, do you?”

The pup let out a tiny chuff then set to work in a real exploration of Jon’s dragon, sniffing every inch of grassy ground that surrounded the green-scaled beast, from snout to tail and back ‘round again, already careful not to disturb the black dragon that slept on nearby.

“Can she not speak, Ghost?” Rhaegal whispered the question when the pup lingered at the tip of his spiked tail, clearly concerned but not wishing to offend.

“Suppose not.” Ghost shrugged. “Can’t say I remember at time when I didn’t, but I’m sure there was one. Mayhap Jon taught me.” He gloried anew at the sight of his flesh and blood as she crept back to her father, coming to nuzzle her face into his side. She had just curled herself up against his haunches when another voice came, this one much less friendly and clearly rankled at having her slumber interrupted.

“Well, well, well.” Ghost braced himself, this introduction being the only one he was a trifle nervous about. The black dragon let out a great, booming yawn, rising on all fours, large talons digging into the ground as she took in the scene before her. “What have we here, pony dog?”

She pressed on, her amber eyes glowing bright in the morning sun, afire from within, her voice curious but edged with friendly suspicion. “Can it be? Has the mighty Ghost finally proven he is, in fact, a wolf of his word?” She peered at the creamy ball of fur that seemed determined to tuck itself under him, his pup shying away from the largest dragon in all the world as she advanced on them both. “A girl,” she hummed serenely, her large nostrils flaring as she inhaled the combined scent of sire and pup. “I shall sing praises to your Old Gods myself, that they have spared us another packmate who thinks more with his-“

“Ah, ah, ah,” Rhaegal tutted. “Not in front of the pup, my dear.”

“Yes,” Ghost interjected, “we wouldn’t want her to pick up on your terrible habits, would we?”

Drogon glared at a him, a rumbling building in her chest, but when she saw the pup shiver at the sound she quieted. “Come here, girl,” she entreated, trying for a softness that he had not expected from this dragon of Silver Dany’s. “Let me look upon you.”

There, under the bright blue sky, in the heart of the Riverlands, his only pup seemed to take a deep, steadying breath, and then she obeyed the dragon’s command. She took small, halting steps, but she did not pause, and his soul stirred once more with unbidden pride at her bravery.

“Good girl,” Drogon whispered, when the pup was close enough to place two paws upon one large, talon-tipped foot, and he was amazed at the gentleness in the dragon’s voice. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?” Now, both Rhaegal and Ghost peered at each other in surprise. The black dragon was practically cooing at his pup, lowering her snout obligingly so that the creamy, gangly pup could rub her muzzle against the heated scales. “Much better looking than your father, which is a blessing for us all.”

Ghost sighed. “I’ll have you know I’m considered quite handsome amongst my kind.” He looked at his pup, whispering forcefully, “Don’t listen to her, love.” He paused exaggeratedly, letting his eyes grow wide. “She doesn’t even eat her food bloody, burns all the flavor right out of it. I wouldn’t trust her in matters of taste.”

Drogon ignored him. “Haven’t you got anything to say, girl? A greeting is customary.”

His pup stared up at the dragon mutely, before swinging her head around to look at Ghost.

“She doesn’t speak yet.”

Drogon looked again at the pup, pondering Ghost’s words. “Ahhh,” she finally sighed. “Perhaps she is just…simple. She does have *you* for a sire, after all.”

“Ignore her, lass,” Ghost muttered between gritted teeth, the pups head swinging between white wolf and black dragon as they exchanged jests, “I fear she’s got a tiny little brain in that overly-giant head of hers.” He smiled down at his wee girl. “You’ll speak soon enough, I’m sure of it.”

His fluffy pup gave him a lick on his check then sunk down on to her haunches once more, this time in front of Drogon, who gave both wolves a surprised look. She issued forth a stream of little yips to the black dragon, prancing this way and that, darting in to nip playfully at Drogon’s snout before dancing back on her small paws, waiting expectantly as she stared at the massive beast with inquisitive green eyes.

“Is she mad?” Drogon chuckled, though she tried her best to sound exasperated. “What is she doing?”

It was Rhaegal who answered. “She wants to play.” The green dragon gave a contented sigh, curling up close to Ghost so that he could watch the scene unfold. “Such temerity. I do admire such boldness, don’t you?”

If Drogon agreed with her mate, she did not get a chance to voice such, as a commotion from behind caused them all to turn and look for the source, human voices raising in excited crescendo as the village behind them rose to greet the day.

But Ghost already knew what he would find, and now the joy in his heart, the peace in his soul was tripled where it had only been doubled, for Jon stood now on the stairs of the Inn, a wide grin breaking across his face when gray eyes met red. 

And when Jon gave a shout towards the interior of the building, Ghost knew who he summoned forth, pleased to see Jon’s Queen and his Sweet Aly emerge, still in their bedclothes, rubbing their eyes and squinting in the bright rays of the morning sun.

And when the little trio descended the stairs, Sweet Aly squirmed so much in her mother’s arms that Silver Dany was forced to let her loose, both the small girl’s parents giving chase as the lass made haste to join the dragons and wolves, crying in dismay when Jon caught up with her and scooped her up into his arms.

No, these things were not surprising to Ghost.

What was, surprising, what threatened to knock him straight back onto his furry arse, was the furry streak that shot out from beside him, his pup heading straight for the little girl who twisted in Jon’s grip, something happening that he had not anticipated, not yet at least.

For Ghost, when he had been found, when Jon had named him as his own, had not sought such a fate. He had been swept into this purpose through the ebb and flow of fate and destiny, but he had been so very small, and weak, and tired, and hungry, that he had made no decision of his own. Jon had simply been his, from the moment he’d plucked him from the snows near his dam’s dead body, near frozen and starved to death himself.

But his pup, perhaps because she was a bit older than he’d been, more aware of the world around her, having had a mother to guide her and teach her, showed no hesitation at all.

She made a beeline for Ghost’s other pup, for Jon’s sweet little babe, and if wolves could truly cry he imagined he might become the sort of blubbering, sloppy mess these humans made of themselves each time they engaged in the humiliating task. Something was happening, he knew, something quite important, something building and charging the air.

Wolf and girl stopped, just before they collided, and stared at each other for a very long time. None dared speak; Not Jon and Silver Dany, who clasped hands tightly and looked on in wonder, nor the villagers who’d also begun to rouse for the day, and stopped in their tracks to witness the spectacle. Even Arya, her pup squirming in her grip just as Sweet Aly had in her father’s, stood motionless and smiling.

Then Sweet Aly clapped her chubby hands together, and the wind began to whip around them, the curls escaping her silver braids creating a halo of light around her face, and Ghost had the sense that for his little charges none others existed in that moment, only them.

“Their souls call out to each other,” Rhaegal intoned quietly beside him, a strange pronouncement of the sort he had taken to making since before he’d left off with Drogon to make his alleged magical eggs.

But he was right.

Ghost could feel the magic of the Old Ones riding on the breeze, causing the trees to sway and stir, wrapping around them all in a powerful embrace, and he did not think he could move even if he wished to, not just then.

The girl did have power, tremendous power, just as his green brother had said, but Ghost had not felt the extent of it until now.

“Bear,” she exclaimed brightly, before closing the remaining space between the two and wrapping her small arms around the pup’s neck, giggling when the pup unleashed such a fury of kissing licks to the girl’s face and hair that soon both were on the ground wrestling around, Sweet Aly’s melodic laugh and his pup’s happy little yips filling the air.

With a patience that belied her usual nature, Sweet Aly stood then, her hair a mess of silver, her face streaked with dirt and her little nightgown streaked with grass and dew. And she stayed very, very still while the pup she called Bear inspected her carefully, her small black nose hovering over the girl, examining her with careful inspection.

“Mama,” the girl whispered, giggling when the pup nosed at her neck, “look!” She turned her head to look at Silver Dany, who smiled at the pair and came closer, slowly, not wishing to disturb the two in the middle of an obvious introduction. “Is Bear!”

“No, sweetling,” Silver Dany chuckled. “This is a wolf, not a bear.”

“Mama!” Sweet Aly frowned, and shook her head forcefully. “Is Bear! Ice Bear! Story!” She stamped her little feet and crossed her arms, though Ghost was a bit mystified by the cause of her aggravation. He supposed the girl was right, his pup did look a bit like the great, white bears that frequented the Northern, icy wastelands, but he was fairly certain his Sweet Aly had never actually seen one.

“Her eyes, Jon.” Silver Dany knelt before the pair, looking closely at Ghost’s pup. “Look at her eyes.”

Jon came close as well, his hand falling on his mate’s shoulder. “Touched by the Old Gods. That is how you know, in the North.” He whispered to Silver Dany, but Ghost could hear him loud as day. Jon understood what it meant, and that pleased him greatly. “Green eyes, Red eyes, and eyes of gold. These are the mark of the Old Gods.” Jon gave Ghost a proud smile. “And now, look. We’ve got some of each!”

Sweet Aly was deeply unconcerned with what her parents discussed, and she lay a small hand on the top of the pup’s head. “Name is Bear.” She stared hard between her parents, as though she would brook no argument in this, and Ghost spied the corners of Jon’s mouth twitch. “Like story.” She nodded with emphatic surety, and it was then that Silver Dany’s eyes widened in apparent comprehension.

“The story book Sam gave her. That’s what she means.”

Jon nodded slowly then knelt as well, level now with both girl and pup. “I see,” he said seriously. “Aye, she looks like that bear, doesn’t she?” Jon’s head tilted to the side. “But you know she’s not a bear, don’t you love? She’s a direwolf, like Ghost.” His eyes flicked up, meeting Ghost’s. “That’s Ghost’s pup, come to see you.”

“*My* pup,” Sweet Aly said, hugging the pup’s head closer to her as she addressed her father gravely. “Name is Bear, Papa.” The girl peeked sweetly at the fluffy pup who sat gamely beside her. “She said.”

Slowly, Jon nodded, hiding his amusement so as not to offend the small girl before him. “I see.” He spared a look at Silver Dany, who shrugged and nodded. “Well, that’s settled then, and a fine name.” Jon stood, finally looking about to find the entire village gathered behind them little family, his eyes finally settling on the man who cut up all the meats, who’d delivered Ghost’s delicious pigs just the night before. “Perhaps you would assist the Queen and Princess in finding a meal for our wolf?”

Jon turned back and stared at Ghost, his lips finally curling up as Silver Dany and Sweet Aly scurried off to find his pup something to fill her rumbling stomach.

“You, come with me.”

\-------------

Jon came to a stop on the hillside, the sun still rising, and he settled himself down, his knees bent, his arms bracing him on each side. He tipped his chin to the space beside him, and Ghost came, settling down as well, relishing the quiet moment where it was just the two of them, like it used to be.

“Things were easier then, weren’t they lad?” Jon laughed quietly, clearly of the same mind as his wolf. “But far, far lonelier. Just the two of us, alone in the world save for each other.” He leaned into Ghost’s side, his breath fanning the fur there with each exhalation. “Aye, can’t say I miss those days much anymore.” His oldest companion was quiet, contemplative.

“Now you are a papa as well, aren’t you lad?” Ghost let out a grunt of agreement at Jon’s question, a sense of completeness, though unfamiliar, warming him from the inside out in the lingering morning chill. “You have given me a great comfort.”

The white wolf pulled back in confusion, staring at Jon, willing him to explain until finally the man’s gaze was upon him. “We will not be here forever, Ghost. And when we are gone,” he trailed off, his jaw clenching, his hands fisting in the grass, “now I know they shall have each other, too. Just like us.”

Now, he understood, though it filled him with sadness, this prospect that there would come a day when he would not be here for Jon, or Silver Dany, or his Sweet Aly. But it *was* a comfort, he realized, that his little wolf pup named Bear would be here to watch over his sweet girl, even when he could not.

So, he whined in agreement, licking at the tear that escaped Jon’s eyes and wandered slowly down his cheek. “Yes,” Jon said gruffly, his arm wrapping around Ghost’s neck as the man pulled the white wolf closer, “a great comfort indeed.”

Jon pushed on, clearing his throat, straightening to meet Ghost’s eyes. “I do hope that, wherever her dam is, you might chance upon her again someday.” Ghost narrowed his eyes. “For I suspect that Dany’s got another babe to come, lad, and perhaps that babe shall need a protector as well.”

Ghost gave a yelp of surprise. Exactly how many bloody babes did he mean to put in Silver Dany? He was only one wolf, Old Gods preserve him, though he couldn’t say he begrudged the idea of making another pup with the lovely Lily.

On the other hand, he couldn’t exactly blame the brother of his blood. Pups were work, of that he was certain, but they were awfully fun in the making.

He was, perhaps, more surprised that he had not noticed, though he had been so busy with Sweet Aly that such state for Jon’s mate, while unsurprising given their constant practice at making babes, had caught him unawares.

Jon sighed, plucking a blade of grass and clutching it between his teeth, nudging Ghost’s shoulder with his own. “D’you know, I reckon the sort of wolf who makes such a proper little pup as that, ought to be entitled to a special reward.”

Ghost straightened, pushing out his chest, adopting what he hoped was a proud, noble stance. His pup was most glorious, this was true, the most beautiful pup Gods and man alike would ever dare lay eyes on. He was reserving judgment on the dragons.

They made up their own minds, always.

Jon stood, brushing off his trousers, giving Ghost in scratch in that most special spot, just below his ear but right above his great jawbone, and the man laughed like the boy he had once been when Ghost’s hind leg set to thumping.

“Let’s go see if they’ve got anymore pigs about, lad.” Jon began to walk, knowing Ghost would follow behind, the guard at his back, the silent protector who lay in wait for any who meant him or his pack harm. “Today is a day to celebrate.”

Off in the distance, the dragons roared their agreement, and as the sun shone above, and the green grass of spring grew below his paws, Ghost could not help but agree.

And beast though he may be, and a fool by even greater measure, he loved, and that was enough.

His pack was complete.

For now.


	4. The Ones who Remain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing fucks you harder than time. This is a lesson Ghost is learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather melancholy end to this little set of stories, although, at least in this little world, everyone lives very long, happy lives. Still, no one lives forever, not Kings, or Queens, or direwolves.
> 
> Just the dragons, I guess. Those fuckers live forever.
> 
> P.S. - I have not forgotten about the Beautiful Creatures update. I am currently in the grips of my own writing panic, in which I am without a laptop (on loan to one of my hubby's employees so she can work remotely) and spent the weekend without a phone when I dropped it in a mop bucket and rendered it unusable. Truly a tragedy, and so I wrote this short snippet while I sort out my writing situation for my longer updates that need fixing. Bear with me, the spirit is willing, the technology is less than able, since my phone can't open the thumb drive my fics are currently stored on. Sorry for the delay, but I'll get it sorted out eventually!
> 
> If there are awful boo boos in this, I wrote it on my newly dried out phone, which seems to be hanging in there, but writing in the AO3 window on my phone sux donkey balls. So, apologies in advance.

Ghost was getting old.

He knew that was the bloody truth; When he rose with the sun, it was with pain in his joints and an ache in his spine. He would be stiff-legged ‘til mid-day, when the warm sky above would ease his ailments, when the wind in his fur would breathe life back into his old bones.

But there was no getting around it.

He was old. He’d outpaced a natural wolf’s years by decades, at least, but it was hard to measure such things. His only gauge was the people around him, the dragons that flew and circled Silver Dany’s Keep. This island had been their refuge, when the pressures of ruling were too great, and though he’d never admit it, he preferred these craggy shores.

The cold was too great for him, now.

He needed summer sun, and the shrieks of Sweet Aly’s children, or middle son Torrhen, the little wolf boy, and his passel of pups, or even last-born Benjen, who’d already fathered two children of his own.

He could do, most days, without the screeching dragons above. Not Drogon, or Rhaegal, of course. They were his pack, his blood, his dearest companions. They were apart of him. But those blasted eggs, those *special* eggs, that Drogon had hoarded to herself for five years had hatched an age ago, and brought upon them all several *more* dragons. Three more, to be precise, one each for Jon and Silver Dany’s babes.

The gold was Sweet Aly’s, a beast named Dreamfyre, though for Ghost the little shit had been more of a nightmare, when the scaly little treasure had hatched. Now, he bore her presence, but sometimes he resented the graceful, lovely creature.

She always ended up taking Sweet Aly away, after all.

The blue and silver was Torrhen’s, and the dark-haired boy with the Northern looks but the fiery temper had named his dragon Silver Spear. He liked Jon’s second pup, the one who reminded Ghost most of what Jon had been like, in his younger days, his temper quick, his smiles slow but lasting.

But like his nest mate, Silver Spear caused an ache in Ghost’s heart, as well. He was mindful of the wolves that roamed, but he, as well, ended up ferrying off one of Jon’s pups, to parts unknown, and it was hard to bear the sadness when that happened.

Benjen’s beast was a red terror named Smoke. A simple name, for a vicious animal, one who was as touchy and prickly as his master was kind and easy.

They were family, yes, but in his heart of hearts, Ghost sometimes missed those simpler days, when Jon’s three little whelps were small, and would bury their sticky hands in his fur (those who didn’t have wolves themselves, yet).

All three pups had wolves, by the time they were grown, and dragons as well, but the same could not be said of their children. Some had one or the other, some none at all, but they were, by in large, a happy group, and Ghost supposed that was enough. It was more than most had, at least. They had each other, just as Jon had once told him. They were a pack, and they would care for each other, long after man and wolf were gone.

Sweet Aly was Queen, now, and Ghost did not have to go to the city anymore. Bear was gone, with her mistress, but that was alright, too.

Jon had told him, many times, that pups didn’t remain. They weren’t meant to, they had to grow, lead their own lives, determine their own fates.

Children didn’t stay children forever.

That was true, Ghost knew. And at least he knew, in those moments by Jon’s side, when Jon would sip his ale, his hair long gone a snowy white that near matched his Queen’s, that they still had each other.

But not for much longer.

Ghost knew this was true, as well. He couldn’t be certain how, but he knew, and so did Rhaegal.

On Dragonstone, these days, it was the five of them, just like old times. Drogon had laid no more eggs, after that first clutch, but she seemed content enough, though both she and Rhaegal had grown so massive that sometimes Ghost feared the sun had gone away completely, when they flew overhead.

Rhaegal was not so content, because he could feel what was coming.

Death was creeping close, for their brother. And Ghost began to wonder, if this time, it would claim him as well.

He’d only brought it up to the green dragon, his brother hewn from scale and flame, only once, and the creature had begun to weep so violently that Ghost thought Drogon might finally roast him alive, for upsetting her mate so.

But Rhaegal knew, he was sure of it.

Ghost had started to think that Silver Dany did, too, and her sorrow, the wolf thought, would be a far greater and more terrible thing than her dragons could ever be capable of. It might even match his own.

\-----------

Jon grew thinner, and lost his appetite, and eventually, he did not leave his rooms at all.

Silver Dany did not leave his side, no matter how her children, or grandchildren, urged her to visit with them, or walk the grounds, or fly on her great black dragon.

She would not be moved by their pleas.

“He needs me,” she said, and held tighter to Jon’s hand.

Ghost understood, what the others could not comprehend.

He stayed by Silver Dany, letting her rest against him when she grew weary. She would read stories aloud to her mate, or simply smooth her hand along his hair, tucked into his side in their large bed.

They would whisper to each other of what had been, and what still might be, and every so often she would manage to coax a laugh from Jon. But those grew fewer and farther between, as well.

Sometimes she cried, quietly, trying not to wake him, but Jon still knew. He could hold her as best he could, grousing that reaching the age of seventy years made every bloody bone in his body hurt, but he would wrap his arms around her and let her cry against his chest.

Sometimes, sadness would take hold of Ghost, hard, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could only lay and watch the rise and fall of Jon’s chest in the night. He was afraid to sleep, on those nights, certain that if he did, then Jon would be gone, when he next opened his eyes.

For months they existed like this, in the same dimly lit chamber, in the grip of misery, until, finally, the end came.

“Ghost,” came a whisper in the dark. The sky had begun to silver, the sun not yet risen, but these were things the wolf only barely noticed. It was the hoarse whisper of a man dying, the slowing heartbeat that seemed to pound in his ears, as he crept towards the bed.

He nudged at Silver Dany with his nose, hoping to wake her, seeing her lashes flutter before he focused on the brother of his blood, his heart, his soul. And though he could not cry as the humans did, he felt a mournful howl build in his throat, only kept back by the slight motion of Jon’s gnarled hand, bidding him closer.

“Good boy,” his brother breathed out. “Come, lad, closer still.” Ghost did as he was asked, would do anything for Jon, wished he could take this death from him, as he had the last. He had carried Jon’s soul once, long ago, but this time, he knew, would be different.

Then Jon’s eyes opened, and with effort, he turned to Ghost, gray eyes meeting red. “Stay with her,” Jon croaked, even as Silver Dany roused completely, finally becoming aware of what was happening. “Don’t leave her. You can’t leave her. I’ll find you again, I will, I will.”

Slower, his heart beat, and Ghost could hear it, knew the man was waiting, though he was certain Jon knew that he understood. They had no secrets. He knew what Jon wanted.

Silver Dany could not bear this loss, not alone. He must stay with her, now, be her strength when Jon could not. Protect her, until she left as well, to be with him again. And though he rarely spared a thought for the Old Gods who’d made him, and given him to the old King who lay abed, dying, he prayed that they would listen.

He prayed he could stay, and then, when it was Silver Dany’s time to pass, he prayed they would take him as well.

He was tired of living, some days.

Ghost groaned quietly, as Silver Dany began to cry, and licked at Jon’s cheek, where a tear had escaped. “I love you,” Jon whispered, as Dany’s cries grew louder. “I’m not tellin’ ya goodbye. I won’t.”

“Don’t leave me,” his mate sobbed, tears soaking the bed linens, and Ghost wondered if her tears would ever dry, after this. “You can’t leave me. No, Jon. Don’t!”

“Not leavin’,” Jon wheezed, as his breath began to falter. “Waitin’ for you, love. Always here.”

Then that steady rhythm, the drum beat that had been a companion to the beating of Ghost’s own heart, stuttered, and stopped. Ghost felt a sharp, horrible tearing, from within himself, as if his soul was split into two, leaving behind only ragged tatters where Jon had once been.

And then he was gone.

Silver Dany let out a scream, a terrible sound, that filled Ghost with unbearable agony.

Outside, Rhaegal screamed as well, a great and awful trumpeting cry, because he felt it, too.

Three brothers had become two, and Ghost climbed into the bed, laying beside Jon one last time, as Silver Dany tightly fisted a hand in his fur.

\----------

She lasted a year, once he was gone. An awful, painful year, each turn of the moon showing another sign of her decline.

But she had Ghost, and he had her, and sometimes, when the moon was the highest, and a cold wind would whistle through the stony Keep, he thought he could hear the echo of Jon’s boots along the corridor.

Eventually, she had to be helped out of doors, but she insisted, and men would carry her, with Ghost shuffling behind, out to the grassy cliffs. And then they would scurry, and Ghost would feel a flicker of amusement as Drogon landed, ready to curl her warm body around her mother and the wolf, so they could sit, for hours, protected from the chill.

Winter was coming, that’s what the people said, and Ghost knew that was true.

But he didn’t think he or Silver Dany would be there to see it.

Rhaegal was still on these shores, still bound to Ghost’s soul, but even that bond had been tempered, in the wake of Jon’s death. For Jon’s grandson, a boy of fourteen, a lad of Benjen’s, had come to stay, had refused to return to the city, and finally, after months, Rhaegal had let the lad ride him.

They were brothers, still, but the dragon had a new purpose.

Silver Dany was leaned against Drogon’s warm scales, dozing in the midday sun, when the dragon voiced her concerns.

“She’s slipping away, Ghost. I’m losing her.” It was the saddest the wolf had ever seen the dragon, but he understood. For Drogon, Silver Dany was her mother, the one who had given her life, and meaning. They had conquered kingdoms and won wars, but this was one enemy that could not be fought.

'Death always wins', Jon used to say, though the madman had certainly cheated it once in his lifetime.

“It’s what they do,” Ghost answered tiredly. “People die, you silly beast. They don’t live as long as dragons.”

There came a miserable chirp, and Drogon shifted. “I know,” she whispered. “There is another who will ride me, when she is gone.” With a morose sigh, that large black muzzle rested against the grass, and he was staring into a large, amber eye. “You are leaving, too. I can smell it on you, pony dog.”

Ghost chuffed, and licked at his paw, arching his neck and wincing at the stiffness. “Wolves die, too.” There was something unbearable about how the dragon was looking at him, something that made him itch under his skin. “But I’m not dead yet, you overgrown lizard, so stop eyeing me like I’m a meal.”

Drogon huffed, pretending to be offended. “You’d taste terrible. Look at you. Skin and bones, now.” She clucked under her breath. “How dare you even suggest it, you nasty ball of fur?”

Ghost chuckled, and nudged his nose against her snout. “Don’t tell Rhaegal this, but I always liked you best.”

He shifted, to rest against Silver Dany’s side, and her hand dropped against his fur in her sleep.

“Naturally,” Drogon replied, but she sounded so melancholy that he had to look away. “You’ve always been a wolf of excellent taste.” A tense silence fell, then the dragon spoke again. “You stayed for mother, didn’t you?” Ghost didn’t respond, wasn’t sure how, but Drogon persisted. “You could’ve gone with Jon, but you stayed.”

Ghost sighed. “Aye. He begged me, you see. And you know I never could say no to him, the old fool.”

The dragon was quiet for another long moment, staring at the sky, and had he not been listening so closely, he might’ve missed her next words. “You’re my favorite, too, you disgusting little beast.”

Fondness warmed him from within, and he pretended to glare at the black beast, even as he gave a panting smile. "For now. You'll forget me, soon enough. You scaly fuckers live forever, don't you?"

The light in Drogon's eyes dimmed, just a bit, and she sighed, settling again. "Perhaps," she murmured. "But it won't be the same. Not without you."

Ghost let his eyes slip shut, intent on taking advantage of another nap, on a day full of them. “I know,” he sighed. “I know.”

\-----------

That night, as Ghost settled beside the bed Silver Dany had shared with Jon, he knew it was here, finally. He could smell the creep of death, that sour, bitter smell, could hear the beginning rattle of the Queen’s breath as it left her lungs.

He whined, until she let her hand fall over the side of her bed, her fingers just brushing the top of his head.

“I’m ready, Jon,” she whispered, to the ghosts that filled the room. “I’m ready.”

And in the quiet, as the Queen died, he felt that bond flare to life again, and let his own agreement trickle and flow along that thin thread. He was ready, too.

He shut his eyes, never to open them again.

\------------

The next thing he knew, his next moment of awareness, found him in a familiar wood.

He knew these lands, that had birthed him, that had delivered him, that had been his home, and the home of his ancestors, as well.

He knew, if he kept along this snowy, treelined path, what he would find.

He loped along, thrilling at the cold chill in the air, feeling more alive than he had in a very long time.

Then, he began to run, towards the white-barked Heart Tree, with it’s leaves of blood and weeping eyes.

Because two figures were there, and as he neared, he saw that on this day, the tree did not weep. What cause was there to weep, anymore, when his soul finally felt free?

Jon sat, with his Queen, his head tucked against hers, night against day, fitted perfectly against her.

But when he saw Ghost, he stood, and now Ghost could not stop the howl that arose in his throat. There was no need to, anymore.

The sound he made was joyful, and glad, full-throated and echoing through the wood, and Jon laughed, waving a gloved hand, young and proud in his leathers and furs.

“C’mon, lad!”

When he joined them, and Jon threw his arms around the wolf’s neck, he felt whole, complete. He felt as though the years had melted away, and now they stood, the best versions of themselves, the true versions.

Silver Dany’s laugh was like a bell, and it only grew louder when Ghost twisted his head around to lick at her face wildly.

Jon hugged him tight, thrusting his face into the wolf’s neck, breathing deep. “What a good lad you are, Ghost. Such a good boy.” He wriggled in Jon’s grip, trying to get closer, contentment settling into his bones, as the snow crunched under the pads of his paws. “The very best boy.”

And Ghost thought that whatever this was, whatever came next, it seemed to him that so long as they were together, it would be a grand adventure, indeed.


End file.
